


Heaven's Sweetness

by palominopup



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Gay Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2019-10-23 23:39:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17693360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palominopup/pseuds/palominopup
Summary: Dean Winchester has been unfairly imprisoned for the murder of his father’s wife, Kate Milligan. Fifteen years; fifteen long years, until one night on his death bed, John finally confessed that he had killed her. Dean is set free with nothing more than a brief apology from the state's prison system. Now he must face this new world alone; well not alone, his brother is trying to help him, but it’s hard when you have been isolated for years. No one wants to hire him. No one wants someone that has been in jail, plus he has almost no education.He is surviving, almost missing the comfort of his cell, when one day he sees a lesbian couple eating a rainbow cake and being harassed by a man. Dean cannot tolerate it, so he intervenes. He’s pretty sure the owner, the guy with the messy dark hair, is going to throw him out and tell him never to come back, but instead he brings him inside the bakery and takes care of his wounds. He tells Dean it was brave and when he finds out Dean needs a job, he hires him.They immediately form a strong bound. Can Dean finally find the happiness he’d wanted for so long?





	1. Rapture

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MellQueenOfHell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellQueenOfHell/gifts).



> A few months ago, I ran a little contest on my Palominopup FB page. I asked my readers to come up with a 'different' bakery trope. When all the entries were in, the members of my page got to vote on what they'd like to see written. This is the winning entry by MellQueenofHell. She created the title collage as part of her entry.
> 
> My editors-in-chief are Tiffany and Angi. Thanks, guys.

 

The clanging of the gates behind Dean made him flinch. He refused to turn around.  _One foot in front of the other_. That was his mantra as he walked out of the prison that had been his home for the last fifteen years.

He'd already been cleared and processed out of the system. Sam was waiting for him just outside the main gate. He was a free man. A free man with no home, no job, and no income.  _One foot in front of the other_. He'd already changed from his prison jumpsuit to the clothing given to him -- a pair of too-loose jeans, a black t-shirt, a heavy cotton button-down, and black boots that were too tight. In his hands, he was carrying a plastic bag with one other change of clothes, his personal hygiene products, and a couple of well-loved paperback books. That was all he owned.

The guard, Dean thought his name was Joe, reached the gate first and it automatically opened. Dean couldn't help but look up at the camera and wink. He stood to the side and let Dean go through first. He squinted at the bright morning sun. He knew it was illogical, but the air seemed cleaner outside the prison fence. 

Sam was leaning against a full-size SUV. He straightened as Dean crossed the grass, ignoring the sidewalk. His brother was grinning. "Dean, I can’t believe this day has finally come." Sam had always believed him, even when their own father had pointed to him in the courtroom and said that Dean killed Kate Milligan. Sam was the one who never missed a visit on Sundays, even when he was in medical school. John visited once. It was only to belittle him and ask if he had left any money in the house.

His brother’s arms felt like good and he didn’t want the hug to end. Sam pushed him back, but kept his hands on Dean’s biceps. “Let’s go home.”  _Home_. That was rich. The plan – Sam's plan – was to have Dean stay with him and Eileen, a woman he’d never met even though she and Sammy had been married for eight years.

Inside the leather-upholstered SUV, Dean stared out the side window. “Dean, look, I know this is going to take some getting used to, but I’m here for you. You know that, right?”

“Sure, Sammy,” he said, still taking in the view on his side of the vehicle. He reached over to turn on the radio, but all he saw was a screen. “What the fuck is this?”

“It’s a touch screen,” Sam said. “I thought we’d talk, Dean.” And fuck if he didn’t give Dean  _those_  eyes, wide and seemingly innocent. 

“We’ve talked all week, Sammy." Dean turned away to Sam wouldn’t guilt trip into  _sharing_  shit. 

Taking the hint, Sam touched the screen and soft music began to play. Dean wanted to scream. This was elevator music. He wanted some Zeppelin, AC/DC, or ZZ Top. “Driver picks the music,” Sam mumbled under his breath and Dean knew he was screwed. 

The twenty miles from Concord, and the Massachusetts Correctional Institution, to Boston took close to forty minutes. The traffic was insane. Dean stared at the cars. So many new models. He hadn’t lived under a rock the past fifteen years, he’d had television and computers, but to see them up close. God, he missed his baby. 

Sam slowed and they pulled into the parking lot of Massachusetts General. “I just have to make a pit stop.”

“Did you take off work for this?” Sam was a pediatrician at the huge hospital. Dean was proud of who he’d become, which was why Sam’s plan wasn’t going to work out. He was an ex-con. No one would care that he’d been innocent. Sam probably hung out with other doctors. Wasn’t Eileen some sort of reporter? They didn’t need Dean around. 

The counselor at the prison had referred him to some ministry that would help him with a temporary place to live. Soon as he could get away from Sam, he’d look them up. He could pretend to believe in God for a place to sleep.

“I have the next three days off,” Sam answered. Dean’s head swiveled around to stare at his brother.

“Why?”

“I had some vacation time built up and thought you’d need some help getting adjusted.” Sam parked the car in a spot marked with their last name.  _Nice_. Sam was something special. He deserved it. “Give me five minutes.” Dean watched him disappear through a set of double glass doors.

Dean stared down at his hands, still clutching the plastic bag filled with his belongings. He hated that his brother had to put his life on hold to  _help him adjust_. He hated that he was he interrupting Sam and Eileen’s life and invading their home, hated that he had no job, no money, nothing but a couple of books and some ill-fitting clothes, and _absolutely_  hated that he didn’t even know how to work a god damn car stereo anymore. More than anything though, he hated John Winchester for letting him rot in prison for something he didn’t even do. 

He tried not to let his mood get too dark. He should be happy to be a free man once again. Maybe tomorrow. Tonight, he was going to sulk. Maybe Sam had a bottle of whiskey stashed somewhere. Dean stopped that thought as soon as it came. He was not going to end up like his drunken murderer of a father. Dean had been fifteen years without a drink, he damn sure didn’t need one now. 

Sam jogged back to the car. “Sorry about that, just had to check on one of my patients.”

“Sam, you don’t have to babysit me. I’ll be fine.”

“Dean, let it rest. You were always there for me, now it’s my turn.” Only he wasn’t there for Sam, not since that gavel fell and Dean was sentenced to prison.

They pulled into a circular driveway and Dean’s eyes widened. This wasn’t a house-in-the-burbs, this was a freakin’ mansion. Okay, so maybe not quite, but still. The red bricks and stark white trim made the two-story federal look expensive. Then again, Sam was living in Beacon Hill. Yeah, Dean had seen the signs when they turned onto Charles. It was one of the most exclusive areas of Boston. 

As soon as he was out of the car, a pretty, petite brunette opened the door and stepped onto the steps leading up to the house. “Damn, Sam, you did alright for yourself.” The pictures Sam showed him over the last few years didn’t do her justice. She greeted him with a warm smile and then wrapped him in a tight hug. It was weird, but a good weird. Sam was the only other person he has hugged in years. 

“Dean, it is so good to finally meet you,” she said. Her pitch and voice quality were different. He knew she was deaf, and Sam assured him that she could read lips. It still made him uncomfortable when Sam began to sign and she responded in kind. What were they saying? “Sam says you are probably hungry.”

“I could eat.” Dean had barely touched the breakfast he’d been served. She took his hand and led him into the house. He tried not to stare, but let himself be led into a huge, modern kitchen. On the granite island sat a pie. Eileen had made him pie. She gave him a shy smile. 

“I know pie was your favorite dessert.” Dean nodded and looked away. This was too much. He didn’t belong here. Not in this  _home_ with its gleaming hardwood floors and expensive furniture. He saw movement in his peripheral vision and turned quickly, expecting a blow. Sam jumped back and held up his hands. 

“Whoa, Dean.” Dean stumbled backward, noting Eileen wasn’t in the room any longer. He was glad she hadn’t seen  _that_.

“Sorry... I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay. Look, there’s lunch stuff in the fridge. Why don’t you eat and then I can show you around.” Sam opened the stainless-steel side-by-side and started pulling out packs of lunch meat. “Hey, bread’s over there,” he said with a nod in the direction of the wall ovens. Two.  _Two_ ovens. Dean smiled. He’d love to bake some fresh bread and maybe a few more pies. 

Sam sat on one of the bar stools while Dean put together his sandwich. “I’ll go job hunting tomorrow. The faster I find something, the faster I’ll be out of your hair. And speaking of, they let you have that long mop at that hospital of yours?”

“Dean... I don’t want you to feel like you have to find someplace else to live. This is your home too.”

Dean swung the long chef’s knife around. “No, this is yours and your wife’s. I don’t fit in here.” 

“We’re family. Dad fucked you over and you need to take your life back and if that means taking help from us, so be it. If the tables were turned, would you give me a place to live for as long as I needed it?” Sam should have been a freakin’ lawyer. He sure knew how to turn things around.

“It’s not the same,” Dean whined. Yes, he whined because he knew Sam had won.  _For now_.

The pie turned out to be from a box,  _from the freezer section_ , but Dean couldn’t complain. Apparently, his brother and sister-in-law didn’t cook. Dean thought it was a waste to have a kitchen this awesome and not use it, so he vowed to earn his keep by cooking for them. 

The next morning, he went through the cabinets and refrigerator. He made a meal plan and a list of ingredients. When Sam stumbled down the stairs, Dean had bowls set out for cereal. “You know you don’t even have eggs, man.”

Sam managed to look chagrinned. “We don’t really eat in much.”

“No shit. You have salt and pepper in your spice cabinet. And something that used to be garlic powder. That’s a crying shame, Sam.”

“Let me wake up and we’ll go to the store. You can stock up on whatever you want. Eileen and I usually have yogurt for breakfast and lunch is done at the hospital. Dinners... well, we usually eat out or order in. Several places deliver around here.” Sam poured the bran flakes into a bowl and Dean curled his lip. The kid had come a long way since the Captain Crunch days of their youth. 

Eileen came into the kitchen, dressed in nice slacks and a pretty blouse. She kissed Sam and waved at Dean. “See you tonight, boys. Try to behave.” Sam signed something to her and she nodded. 

“What did you say to her?” Dean asked after she’d left. “Shit, sorry. That’s none of my business.”

“No, it’s okay. I told her we were going shopping. She can teach you to sign. She taught me in no time.”

“Yeah, well you got the brains in the family.”

“Dean, don’t do that.” Both men were silent. Dean knew his brother was thinking along the same lines as him. John Winchester treated Dean poorly throughout his childhood and into his teens. Their mother’s death sent John on a downward spiral that ended in a lot of drinking. They’d both been surprised when Kate Milligan agreed to marry him.  Even more surprised when they were introduced to their half-brother, Adam.  

“You ever see Adam?” Dean asked to draw the attention away from himself.

“No. After the trial, he took what little insurance money she left for him and moved out west. Last I heard, he was working in the oil fields in Alaska.”

“Huh.” Dean didn’t know what else to say about that. Finding out they had a younger brother didn’t set well with either of the boys. Neither cared about John finding someone else, but he’d kept Adam a secret for years, leaving Sam and Dean to fend for themselves while he spent his weekends with Kate and her son. 

When Adam turned fifteen, John told them about his other family. Sam was finishing up his internship and Dean, having never graduated high school, was working at a grocery store in the bakery. He’d been living in an old motorhome his pseudo-uncle Bobby had on his property. 

That night came back in vivid technicolor. He’d gone over to tell John he been promoted to assistant manager. He’d wanted his father to be proud of him. 

“Dean,” Sam said, his voice raised to break through Dean’s dark thoughts. 

“I’m going to go shower and get ready.” Without a backward glance, he headed to his room. He didn’t want to open that box in his mind, the one where he shoved the images of Kate’s dead body, the one where he kept pictures of his father’s face as he lied to the judge and jury... no, he had to keep it shut.

While he was dressing in his second pair of jeans, these too tight, he heard the shower in the master bedroom turn on. Good, he had about thirty minutes to clear his head. Downstairs, he opened the back door and stepped out on a flagstone patio. A wrought iron bistro set sat under a blooming crape myrtle. He stood in the sunlight, listening to the sound of bees buzzing among the flowers. The yard looked professionally landscaped and, knowing Sam, it probably was. 

This afternoon, he’d have Sam take him to the storage facility and get the Impala. Fifteen years was a long time for a car to sit undriven, but Sam had assured him he stopped by weekly to start her and let her run. The tires would probably need to be replaced. He’d have to borrow the money from Sam, but would pay him back as soon as he got his first paycheck. 

The door opened and Sam stuck his head out. “You ready to go?”

Dean took one more look at all the flowers, inhaled the fresh air, and nodded. “Yeah.”

They drove out of the neighborhood and Sam turned onto Cambridge. When he parked, Dean looked around. “There’s no grocery store here, dude.”

“That’s the third stop. First, we need to get you a phone.” Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Sam’s narrowed eyes made him shut it quickly. He made a mental note to keep a tally of these purchases. He would pay him back every last dime. Inside the Verizon store, Dean stared in wonder at all the devices. The world sure had changed since he’d been gone. He stood to the side and let Sam negotiate. He didn’t have a clue what 4G and cloud storage were. “Dean, come meet your new phone,” Sam said, motioning for him to sit down across from the cute salesperson. 

She smiled up at him. “I’m going to walk you through a quick tutorial, but this one is just like any other smart phone on the market. We can set your security code...” She brought up a screen and turned it toward Dean. “Just enter the pin number you want to use.”

Twenty-four, zero, two. It had been his password for everything. His and Sam’s birthdays. “Do you have your old phone?”

“No.” Dean kept his answer short. He didn’t want to explain to anyone he’d been locked in a cell for the past fifteen years. 

“He lost it,” Sam lied and Dean looked up at him. Sam  _never_  lied. 

“Yeah, lost it,” Dean mumbled.

“That’s too bad. You’ll have to enter all your contacts manually then, unless you have it backed up on the cloud.”

“The  _cloud_?” 

“He does. We’ll download them when we get home,” Sam told her.

Dean was doing okay until he saw the amount on the register. His heart began to pound. Nine hundred dollars for a phone?  _A phone_? For that, it better show him a good time and kiss him goodnight. “Sam?” 

“Thank you,” Sam told the girl and took the plastic bag from her. He grabbed Dean’s arm and steered him out of the store.

On the sidewalk, Dean balked. “Jesus Fucking Christ, Sam. Nine hundred dollars...  _for a phone_?”

“Dean, it’s a smart phone. Trust me, it’s worth it. This is a computer that fits in the palm of your hand. You can access the internet from anywhere.”

Dean blinked up at him. “Why do I need to access the internet anywhere? I can log on your laptop and,  _boom_ , internet. Can’t we take it back and get a flip phone?”

“No. Trust me, you will be in love with this before the end of the day.”

“Does it give head?” He got an eyeroll from Sam and an evil look from an elderly lady walking by. And damned if she wasn’t talking on a  _smart_  phone.

From there, Sam drove to the mall. “This ain’t the grocery store either,” Dean muttered.

“I told you,  _Dean_ , food is the third stop. Third, got it?”

“Kiss my ass,” Dean retorted, getting out of the SUV.  _Malls_. He hated malls. Hell, he hated shopping unless it was for groceries. 

At least, the shopping meccas hadn’t changed much. “Hey, there’s a Dunkin’ Donuts in the food court.” 

“Not interested,” Sam said, walking fast. Dean hurried to catch up. He slid to a stop at Old Navy. 

“Why are we here?” Dean asked, looking around at the strangely fascinating ways they modeled their mannequins.

“You can’t wear those cloths anymore, Dean. They make  _my_  balls hurt.” Dean looked down. They did fit pretty tight around his junk. 

“Sammy, listen, I appreciate what your trying to do, but jeez, man, you just dropped almost a thousand bucks on a phone. It’s gonna take me months to pay you back. Clothes will need to come later.”

“Dean, you lost fifteen years of your life because our father lied to save himself. He put his own son in prison. If I can do anything to help you get back your life, I’m going to do it. If you have to pay me back, fine, we’ll work something out, but for now, please let me do this.” He put his hands in his front pockets and motioned for Dean to sit on one of the benches in the middle of the mall. “When Dad died, he didn’t have a will, but we-- You, me and Adam, were his legal heirs. I sold everything of value and put the money in an account. The house wasn’t much, but he owned it outright. I put it on the market and...” He shrugged. “What I’m trying to say is that I split the money three ways. Adam already took his share. Our share is sitting in the bank. Your part of it is about forty thousand.” Dean stared, open mouthed. 

“I still want all the receipts and I’ll pay you back. I mean it,” he said gruffly. He wasn’t destitute after all. If he was careful, he could find an apartment, get his baby fixed up, and start over.

It took them two hours to pick out several pairs of jeans, some shirts, boxers, socks, and some new boots. They’d hit four different stores and Dean was tired. As promised, Sam gave Dean the receipts. He put it in his new wallet along with the one from the phone store. 

“Whole Foods? What the hell kind of place is this? Don’t they have a Market Basket around here?” Dean took a cart anyway and began to inspect the vegetables.

“This place sells healthier choices, Dean. You’re forty, man.”  _Forty_. Dean pretended to study a bunch of carrots. He’d been twenty-five when he was sent to prison. A kid.  _God damn_ , he’d lost so much time.

The next day, Sam took him to the bank and he set up an account with a deposit of forty-two thousand dollars and some change. He got a new debit card and just like that, he was a member of society.


	2. Homemade Sin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentines Day, everyone. Married, single, or involved, I hope it is a good day. 
> 
> Warning: This chapter contains homophobic language. I wanted realism. I wanted harsh and disgusting, because unfortunately, shit like this still happens.

The next morning, Dean let himself into the two-car garage. He should feel guilty that Sam’s SUV is out in the driveway, but he doesn’t. Baby deserves her own space. Sam had arranged a roll-back tow truck to bring her to the house and she’d arrived right before dinner last night. Dean walked around her, his fingers gliding across her sleek, black body like a lover. Sam had cleaned out John’s house after the old man died and he’d hauled all the mechanics tools to his place, knowing Dean would need them when he got out.

He’d have to get tags, insurance, and new tires, but for now, he was happy just to be with the old girl. Sam found him sitting in the driver’s seat. “Morning. You’re up early.”

“They made us get up five-thirty every morning. You get used to it after a while.” Dean felt Sam’s eyes on him. “Sam, I’ve come to terms with this whole thing, you need to get over it. I’m never getting those years back, but I’m moving on.” That was his story and he was sticking to it. After his father’s confession, the prison system arranged for Dean to see the shrink. He’d tried to get Dean to open up about his anger and sense of betrayal by his own father, but Dean didn’t have to, he had a locked box inside his brain.  _He was good_.

After a lunch of grilled cheese and fresh tomato bisque, Sam took Dean to get his driver’s license, and then they went to Sam’s Club to buy tires. While there, Sam had to look up and down each aisle and they came home with enough toilet paper to wipe the butts of every Red Sox fan on any given day.

By Tuesday, his car was roadworthy, and he’d gotten into a routine of fixing Eileen and Sam fruit smoothies for breakfast that they took with them to work. Since he’d planned the meals in advance, he knew he’d have the entire afternoon to go job hunting. Eileen had taught him how to use the GPS on his phone and armed with a list of grocery stores in the area, he set out.

The first two told him to fill out an application and leave it. He did, knowing he wouldn’t be called back because of the fifteen-year gap in jobs. His third stop was at one of those super stores, he filled out an application in the coffee shop and was told to wait for the manager. The balding man looked it over, made a humming sound, and asked Dean about the gap. “I was sent to prison, but exonerated.”

“We need someone with experience,” he stated, already pushing Dean’s application aside. 

“I have experience. I worked at the Market Basket in their bakery department, and then while in prison, I worked in the kitchen.”

“I’m sorry, son, but I don’t think it would be a good fit.” He stood up and didn’t even offer his hand to shake. “Good luck to you.” 

He had three more strikeouts before calling it a day. On his way back to Sam’s, he spied a colorful sign. “Heaven’s Sweetness,” he read. “Fresh breads and more, baked daily.” On a whim, he parked and stepped past all the cute bistro tables in the patio area. There were several people sitting outside. A bell tinkled when he entered the space. It was bigger than he thought. The display cases at the front were filled with cakes, breads, cookies, and pastries. 

A kid of about eighteen or nineteen stood behind the register. He was smiling at an elderly man. “Here’s your change, Mr. Porter, and here is your order.” The customer took a bright yellow bag and ambled away. Dean stepped up to the counter. “Hello, welcome to Heaven’s Sweetness, what would you like today?”

Dean eyed the selection. “Just a regular coffee and a couple of those cookies.” 

“Excellent choice. Those are my favorite.” Dean smiled unsure of what to say. Small talk wasn’t his forte anymore. In his younger days he could talk and flirt with the best of them. On the  _inside_ , you didn’t do that. You kept your head down and minded your own business. 

The boy, the name embroidered on his apron said  _Jack_ , began fixing his coffee while Dean stared at the vast assortment. This was the kind of place he’d dreamed of owning before...

“We call these Rapture.” He packed two cookies into one of the yellow bags and handed it over the counter. That will be five fifty-six.”

Dean handed him the twenty. Jack gave him his change and then passed him an insulated paper cup that matched the bag. Heaven’s Sweetness was written in a pretty font. Dean slipped a single in the tip jar and turned to go. 

Behind the wheel, he took a sip of the coffee and then opened the bag. The first bite of the cookie made him moan. Rapture was fucking right. It was awesome as hell. The dough had been rolled in sunflower seeds, chopped pecans, and black sesame seeds. He thought he caught a hint of honey. He finished one and started on the other before putting the car in drive. 

Unwilling to show Sam and Eileen how the day of rejections was affecting him, he whipped up a nice dinner and had it ready to serve when Eileen got home from the newspaper. She breezed into the kitchen, grinning. “It smells wonderful.”

He looked at her so she could read his lips. “I hope you like it.” His phone pinged and a vibrating sound came from Eileen’s. Both looked down at their screens. Sam was called to the emergency department for a young accident victim. 

“We will have to eat without him,” Eileen said quickly. She shrugged and Dean guessed that she’d learned being a doctor’s wife meant lots of lonely evenings and missed dinners. 

He felt a little awkward sitting across from his sister-in-law. Sam was usually a buffer in the evenings. “This is very good, Dean.” She pronounced his name differently than most people and he surmised that she had never heard it spoken. 

“Thanks,” Dean said, smiling and picking at his meal. The pork tenderloin was served with a thick apricot sauce and he’d served it with wild rice and roasted cauliflower. “So, uh, Sam says you’re a reporter for the Herald.”

She laughed, it sounded like water rippling over smooth stones and he felt himself relax. “Why are you so afraid of me?”

Afraid? He wasn’t afraid. “I’m not...” he blushed, the skin of his face hot. “I just... I’ve never had to share Sam before and...”

Her smile softened. “He never once thought you were guilty. You know that, right?”

“Yeah.” He knew, but if felt good to hear anyway. They ate in silence for a while, but it was comfortable. They were both loading the dishwasher when Sam let himself in. He kissed his wife and sniffed the air.

“Please tell me you left me something.”

“Dean was a pig,” Eileen said seriously, and Dean snorted. She grinned and he knew he’d fall in love with her.

He carefully avoided the subject of his job hunt and excused himself early. The guest room had a small television and Sam’s old PlayStation. He stripped down to his boxers and picked up the controller. He was surprised the thing still worked. He put in  _Breakout_  and sat down to play.

The next three days, went by slowly. He had a routine. Once Eileen and Sam were out the door, he sat down at the laptop Sam loaned him to map out places to hit on his job search. The grocery stores had turned out to be a bust, and he’d lowered his standards. Next on his list were convenience stores and auto parts stores. Armed with his list of the day, he quickly learned his way around Boston again. So many things had changed. A new bridge changed the skyline and Dean didn’t know whether to love it or hate it. He didn’t like change, but had to admit it was an architectural marvel. After job hunting, he stopped at the same bakery. He wanted to pick up a coffee and a few more Rapture cookies. He didn’t need to deviate from his first order... because  _change_. This day would be no different.

After parking, he greeted Jack, who was outside cleaning off a table. He had his hand on the door when he heard a raised voice behind him. “You need to try some dick, girlie. I know I could do the job. I could take on both of you. We’d have a real good time.” Dean looked around and saw a burly, bearded man standing over two women seated at one of the tables. His belly hung over his belt and his hair was greasy.

One of the women, a slim, cute blonde, told the guy to leave them alone.  

Dean took in the scene quickly. Between the women set a small cake, like a sample. It was made of thin layers in every color of the rainbow. Both women were staring up at the man, eyes wary. Their body language told Dean all he needed to know and he took a few steps toward them. “Seriously, you ever let a man fuck you?” Dean’s fists tightened. The asshole needed to shut his Goddamn mouth.

The other woman, a redhead, said something, but since her back was to Dean, he didn’t hear. “Fucking cunt,” the man said and leaned over threateningly. Dean grabbed his shoulder and hauled him back.

Angry eyes met his and he didn’t react fast enough to duck. The fist caught him on his cheek. “Fuck off, this is between me and these carpet munchers here.” Dean swung, catching the man in an uppercut to the jaw. The guy staggered but didn’t go down. He had about thirty pounds on Dean, but Dean knew how to fight. He pushed Dean and he crashed down on the table, two women scrambling to get out of the way. Dean was aware of several people yelling. He sprung up, but not before using his feet to kick the man in the stomach. The jerk hit the concrete and Dean stood above him, hands clenched at his sides. Growling like a mad bear, the bastard made a move to stand.

“You need to leave, before I call the police,” a male voice from behind Dean called out. Dean inhaled sharply. He didn’t need the cops showing up. He might have been proven innocent, but if they found out he’d been in prison, they’d more than likely give him a hard time.

The troublemaker stood, dusted off his ass, and glared at Dean, then to the man behind him. “You won’t have to worry about me coming back... bunch of faggots and Goddamn dykes...” he snarled loud enough for everyone to hear his parting insults.

Dean’s temper flared again and he took a step toward him, but felt a restraining hand on his arm. “Please, he’s not worth it.”

He waited until the other man was gone and without turning around, he said, “I’m sorry. I’ll pay for any damages and I won’t ever bother you again.”

“You’re hurt,” the deep voice said. 

“Cas, this man defended us. It wasn’t his fault,” said the tiny redhead.

“I know, Charlie,” the voice was placating and Dean decided he needed to see this person. “I saw the whole thing from inside.”

“I saw it too, Cas,” Jack said, already picking up the overturned chairs. “That guy was a jerk.”

Dean wasn’t listening anymore. His eyes were trained on the man in the yellow apron. ‘Cas’ was embroidered in the center. He had the bluest eyes Dean had ever seen. “Please come inside so I can clean your...” He pointed to his own cheek. “...face.”

“I’m good. I’m really sorry...”

“No, don’t be. He was frightening my customers. You are a hero.” Dean shook his head, but the guy, Cas, wasn’t finished. “Let me at least buy you a coffee.”

“He loves the Rapture cookies,” Jack added, smiling at Dean. 

Cas smiled. “And Rapture cookies.” Everyone was staring at him expectantly. He shrugged and Cas smiled. Dean was enthralled. That smile could light up downtown Boston.

The redhead bulldozed her way between them, facing Dean. She took his hand and pumped it a couple of times. “Charlie Bradbury, and this is my fiancée, Gilda. I cannot thank you enough. You were so like a Jedi Warrior. It was badass.”

“Dean... Dean Winchester. I hate that he ruined your dessert. It was a pretty cake.” The cake in question was now flattened and smeared all over the table. Dean knew it was ground into the back of his shirt.

“Yeah, Cas made it for us. He’s doing our wedding cake next month, we were just taste-testing today.”

“Congratulations,” Dean said, suddenly self-conscious at being the center of attention now that the adrenaline high was subsiding.

“Isn’t he precious?” Charlie asked of no one in particular. Thankfully, the crowd was disbursing.

Cas, Dean assumed he was the owner or manager, opened the door and gestured for Dean to enter. “Please, sit.” He pointed to a table near the door to the back, mostly likely the kitchen. Dean sat and Cas disappeared behind them. He inhaled the wonderful smell of baked goods. Bread, hints of cinnamon, chocolate... 

He came back, his hands carrying a first aid kit and a damp cloth. Curious, Dean reached up to touch his face. His fingers came away red. “Fuck... shit... sorry.”

There was that smile again. “He must have caught you with his fingernails or something. The cut isn’t deep and probably won’t scar.” Dean sat still while the man gently cleaned his face with the damp cloth and then patted some ointment on it. Then he picked up Dean’s hand and looked at the knuckles. They were red and slightly swollen, and would likely bruise. “Let me get you some ice.”

“No, look, you’ve been really nice, but I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

His head tilted, but he was still holding onto Dean’s hand. It would be rude to pull away. “You’ve been coming in all week. Do you live around here?”

Dean shook his head. “No, I’m in Beacon Hill. Well, my brother is, I’m just staying there for... until I find a job.”

“What are you looking to do?”

Snorting at the absurdity of it all, Dean shook his head. “Anything. I used to work in a grocery store bakery, but no one is hiring.” That they weren’t hiring  _him_ went unspoken. He didn’t say anything about his prison stint. This guy, Cas, was nice. Dean didn’t want to taint it with his past.

“What were your duties?” Duties? It took a couple of seconds before Dean caught up with the conversation.

“I did the decorating, ya know, bakery stuff.” Dean winced internally. He sounded like a moron.  _Bakery stuff_? He may have well said _I’m an_ _idjit_.

Dean saw the touch of a smile on the other man’s lips. Damn, he had nice lips. Full, slightly dry. “I do ‘bakery stuff’ myself, and I’m in need of some part time help. I pay a good wage and will give you about thirty hours a week. It would include some weekends.” The air quotes the guy made threw Dean off, but then the words sank in.

“I... uh... I was in prison.” The other man lifted a brow and Dean saw his shot go spiraling down the drain. “I was exonerated. I was innocent and they let me out.”

“I know what exonerated means.” He stood. “Wait here, and I’ll get you an application.” He went through the door again and Dean felt panic setting in. There’s no way a place like this would ever hire him. Was the universe playing some sort of sick joke on him?

The owner, no, his name was Cas, came out with a sheet of paper. “You can fill this out here and we can discuss your hourly wage and hours.” Dean took the application and set it in front of him. He didn’t have a freakin’ pen. This day was a cosmic joke. Cas pulled a pen out of his apron pocket. “Here. Take your time, I’ve got to go back into the kitchen. Just come find me when you’re done.”

After countless times filling out the same damn form, Dean was an expert. When he was done, he counted to ten and pushed open the door. The kitchen was a baker’s wet dream. Stainless steel from wall to wall. Dean inhaled. The yeasty smell of bread, the hint of cinnamon, cardamom, and chocolate hung in the air. Cas and a younger Asian man were decorating cupcakes. They both looked up and Cas smiled. “Finished?”

“Yeah... Yes.” he almost added a sir after it, but caught himself. He wasn’t addressing the warden. 

“Great. Kevin, will you finish these while I show Dean around?” He wiped his hands on a towel and stepped forward. “Well, this is your five-cent tour. You’ve seen the front of the bakery, this is the kitchen. The cooler is over there,” he said, pointing to a heavy metal door. “And that’s our storage area.” Another wave of his hand had Dean looking over at an open area with floor to ceiling shelves, filled with bins and boxes.

Dean nodded and tried to hand him the application, but he was off again. “We average about ten wedding cakes a month. I’m usually doing those myself, but I’d love to see your piping skills. All of our special orders come through me or Meg. She mans the website for me. Let’s go have a cup of coffee and talk.” 

He followed Cas out into the front again and sat down at a table across from him. “Jack, two coffees, please. And some cookies.” To Dean he said, “I still owe you some cookies.” He smiled and Dean gave him a parody of one. This whole thing seemed so surreal. Jack set two yellow mugs and a plate of cookies down between them. 

“Sugar and cream for you, boss. Black for you, sir. I added some Homemade Sin.” 

“It’s Dean,” he corrected. “Homemade Sin?”

Cas laughed, “These.” He picked up a chunky chocolate cookie. “Chocolate batter, dark chocolate chunks, and a touch of bourbon.”

“Wow.” Dean looked up at Jack. “Thanks, man.”

Jack beamed. “You’re welcome, Dean. You were great today.” He blushed and hurried away.

“There might be some hero worship there,” Cas whispered. “Jack’s father is out of the picture and I’ve tried to step in, but he sees me as his mother’s friend and his employer...” He shrugged. “I’m not exciting enough.”

“I’m not that exciting,” Dean mumbled.

“But to Jack, you are. You swooped in and took care of a bad situation. Charlie and Gilda are friends as well as clients and they are important to us.”

“Anyone would have done the same,” Dean said, hating the heat on his face, knowing he was blushing.

“Not true, but we can move on,” Cas said softly, seeming to understand Dean’s reluctance of being the center of attention. “Are there any days or hours you cannot work?”

“No... No, I can work whenever you need me.”

“You have your own transportation.” Cas’ eyes had moved to his application. It was a statement, so Dean didn’t feel the need to answer. “I can start you out at ten dollars an hour and like I said, I can guarantee you at least thirty hours a week. I can’t offer part-time employees healthcare, but you will be paid for any overtime you incur.”

“Uh, that’s awesome.” Dean had a job.  _He had a job_.

It wasn’t until he was driving home that he realized not once did Cas ask about his incarceration. He took Dean at face value. Dean could have been lying about the exoneration thing, but Cas acted like he believed him. He believed _in_  him. And for that, Dean wouldn’t let him down.


	3. Deadly Sin

Dean parked the Impala in the back of the bakery and sat staring at the unassuming door. A light illuminated the small alley. Next to him, on the seat, was his packed lunchbox. It was one of those soft, insulated kind. Sam and Eileen had bought it for him when he told them about his new job. Taking a deep breath, he picked it up, and stepped out. Cas had told him the back door would be unlocked, so he opened it. The warmth and heavenly smells hit him and he couldn’t help but smile. It was returned by the Cas, in a white t-shirt, his hands and arms covered in a fine dusting of flour. He was kneading dough.

“Good morning, Dean.”

“Morning.” Dean set his lunchbox down on a shelving unit near the back door and walked closer. “Do you always leave the back door unlocked?” At five a.m., it could be dangerous and Dean wouldn’t want anything to happen to Cas or the bakery.

“Not usually, but I will until I can get you a key made.” Cas was going to trust him with a key? The fact he trusted Dean without even knowing him was both heartwarming and blatantly stupid.

“What do you want me to do first?” 

“I made a list of your duties last night and printed them out. You can go over them now, and then we’ll get you started.” With a nod of his head, he indicated a piece of paper on the table near one of the stand mixers.

Picking it up, Dean began to read aloud, “Deliveries, dishwashing, training with me... the me being you, right?”

Cas gave a low chuckle and said, “Right. Sorry, I was getting ready for bed before I remembered I needed to come up with a game plan.”

Dean kept reading. “Helping with inventory, and register.” Dean looked up questioningly. 

“Jack can train you on the register and you might be called upon to work up front with the customers.”

“Oh, I... uh... I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Cas smacked the lump of dough with the heel of his hand and met his eyes. “Why not?”

“I’m just not good with people.” Dean was once able to charm the pants off anyone, but now, he was an ex-con. He might not have done the crime, but while inside, he wasn’t a model citizen. He was used to men, men who were hardened criminals. Murderers, rapists, drug dealers, you name it, and Dean shared space with them.

With his attention back on kneading, Cas made a humming sound. Figuring the subject dropped, he folded the list and put it in his hip pocket. “What should I do first?”

“Your apron is in your bin. Phones are not allowed, so you can store it in there. It is your personal space and you can put your lunch in there too, unless it has to be refrigerated. We have a small staff fridge over there.”

 Dean followed his gaze and saw a shelf with cloth boxes lining it. On each was a name written in marker. His was on the end. Underneath was a small fridge. He picked up his lunchbox and went over. Taking down his bin, he found a yellow apron inside and a small notebook. He took those out and replaced them with his phone and his lunch. 

After pulling the apron on, he ran his finger over his embroidered name. Cas moved fast. As if reading his mind, Cas said, “Kevin’s mother runs an alteration and sewing business out of her home. She does all my work for me.”

Thirty minutes later found Dean mixing batter for a batch of specialty cupcakes. The notebook that was in his bin was filled with the recipes the bakery used daily. This batch was one of the signature flavors. Deadly Sin was a deep dark chocolate with a frosting made with Bailey’s Irish Cream. The decoration was a molded white chocolate skull with horns, each one dipped in red gel icing. Dean worked methodically. Cas was working on a birthday cake across the room from him and the quiet was calming. In prison, even the kitchen was noisy. 

At seven, Kevin and a dark-haired woman entered through the back door. “Some old, black car is taking up all the space. I had to park behind the beauty shop,” the brunette snapped in lieu of a greeting.

“Thank you for covering for Jack this morning, Meg,” Cas said, ignoring the complaint. Dean tamped down his snarky comeback.  _Some old, black car_  was an insult. She was a big girl and needed her space, but Dean didn’t want to piss off any of Cas’ employees on his first day. 

“Is this the new boy?” The woman, Meg, came and stood across the table from him. Dean looked up, his piping bag held aloft.

“I haven’t been a boy in a long time, Sweetheart,” he said smoothly. Since his hands were covered in frosting, he didn’t offer to shake.  “The name’s Dean.”

“I’m Meg and part  _owner_.” Dean’s heart sunk. He looked down. This job might be over before it started.

“Meg, may I have a word,” Cas said, wiping his hands on a towel. 

“Sure, Clarence, anything for you,” she cooed sweetly. Dean wondered if they were a thing. They walked into Cas’ small office and shut the door. Kevin shrugged and started pulling out ingredients. Dean went back to his cupcakes.

“He’s an ex-con.” The shrill words came out clear. Dean hung his head. Great, he wouldn’t even make it to lunch time.  Cas’ deep voice was muffled and then Meg’s voice could be heard again. “...fuck the help.” 

 _What was that all about_? Dean looked over at Kevin, but the younger man was busy mixing up cookie dough and didn’t seem to be paying attention. Shaking off the feeling of impending doom, Dean began popping the skulls out of the plastic molds. 

The door to the office opened a few minutes later and neither person looked overly happy.  Meg flounced into the front and Cas went back to the half-finished cake. When he finally held back his piping bag and stared at the cake with a critical eye, he spoke. “Kevin, I’ll need you to deliver this one.”

“No problem.” Kevin dusted off his hands. “These are ready to go into the oven.” He plucked a set of keys off the hook by the back door and then he and Cas settled the cake into the back of the van.

Once he was gone, Cas came over to inspect Dean’s work. “Very good, Dean.”

“Thanks. Hope your partner thinks so.” He settled another finished cupcake onto the tray and smiled. He was proud of the perfect swirl of icing. 

“Meg isn’t my partner. She helped with a business loan a few years ago and I’ve been paying her back. There is no ownership on her part, despite her comment.” Dean was silent, not knowing what to say. “Meg is an over-protective friend and I hope once you get to know each other, you will...” he shrugged instead of finishing his sentence. Dean imagined he was going to say ‘ _you will be friends_ ’, but thought better of it. From what Dean had seen of the other woman, they’d go together like oil and water.

Luckily for Dean, Meg was gone by lunch and Cas took over the register. He showed Dean how it worked, but he wanted him to shadow Jack for real training. 

For the rest of the week, Dean’s schedule remained the same. He arrived at five and helped Cas prep until Kevin and Jack got there. Then he trained with Jack on the sales part of the job and assisted Kevin with some of the deliveries. When he got home, he took a short nap in Sam’s recliner until it was time to make dinner for Eileen and his brother. The routine felt normal to him. In prison, he didn’t deviate from day to day. Now though, mornings were his favorite time. He and Cas working together and barely speaking. It was comfortable.

When he was handed his first paycheck on Friday, Dean may have said thank you to Cas about three times. It was another piece to the puzzle of his new life. He deposited it into the bank and stared at the balance in his account. With the money Sam had put in there from the sale of their father’s house, he had more than enough to get his own apartment or small rental home. When he approached Sam and Eileen about it at dinner that night, they both told him to wait and build up his funds. Between them, they made for a good argument. If he added up first and last months’ rent, the deposit, utilities, furniture – even second hand, and all the other stuff he’d need like pots and pans, it would be a large chuck. Dean had to agree that it might be best to wait. The unspoken argument from Dean’s side was what if Cas fired him? What if Cas decided he wasn’t worth the trouble?

It was the beginning of his second week and he was mixing the batter for a gender reveal cake.  _Who thought up that stupid idea_? Apparently, it was a thing. Cas had an oldies radio station playing in the background and Dean was lost in his own mind. “My father killed my stepmother and told the cops it was me. I was sentenced...” He stopped abruptly. What was he doing? With wide eyes, he looked up. Cas was staring at him, head tilted to one side, a smear of red frosting on his neck. Dean focused on that and not the intense blue eyes.

“You were robbed of those years by your own father?” Cas’ voice was soothing and his eyes, now that Dean was staring into them, were filled with compassion and curiosity, not pity.

“Yeah.” 

Cas nodded sagely and then said, “I will need your assistance this afternoon for a librarian's retirement cake.” And just like that, Dean’s racing heart slowed. 

“What are your plans for it?”

“I’m open to ideas,” Cas said, setting the last red rose on the dozen cupcakes.

“What if we did a stack of books. We could use various shades of brown fondant, texture it to look like leather. Use gold leaf for the titles on the spines. Like use the classics. Moby Dick. A Tale of Two Cities.” Dean shrugged. “Or whatever.”

“No, do not downplay your ideas, Dean. I like it. When you finish what you’re doing, sketch it out for me.” Dean smiled shyly and returned to the pink batter with a little more excitement than before.

For Dean, lunch was usually spent at one of the outside tables alone. They staggered their breaks so someone was always available at the register. Even though Dean had been trained to be up front with the customers, he was still apprehensive and Cas seemed to know it, so for now, Kevin and Jack did that job. He hadn’t seen Meg since that first day. Dean knew she wasn’t his biggest fan and from what he’d heard from Kevin, Jack, and Cas, she ran the website and their social media from her home. She was some woman who was living off her dead husband’s money as far as Dean could tell. As long as she stayed out of his way, Dean was happy.

After lunch, Dean showed Cas his sketch of the librarian's cake. Dean basked in the praise and Cas’ smile. The two of them worked well past Dean’s quitting time to finish it. In Dean’s eyes, it was perfect. The finishing touch was a pair of reading glasses sitting atop the stack of books.  Cas set the finished piece in front of a white backdrop and photographed it. Dean was told it would be put on their social media pages. Dean didn’t do Facebook and Twitter, but he supposed he’d have to start.

Friday afternoon, on his way home, he got a text from Sam saying that him and Eileen were going out for ‘date night’. He was on his own. He let himself in the house and sighed. In another life, he’d looked forward to going out, having a few drinks, and picking up a man or woman to play with. 

His sexual appetites changed drastically once he was in a controlled environment with a few hundred incarcerated men. With his looks, he’d been a popular commodity, and his first year, he’d been forced to his knees several times. Befriending a dude named Tiny and a Cajun named Benny helped. Both were lifers and tough as nails. After that, he hadn’t been targeted for ‘favors’. It was a long time to go without sex, but even now, he was hesitant to get himself off. His brother’s bedroom was right across the hall from the guest room. It felt weird, not because of Sam, but because of Eileen. For some reason, it seemed disrespectful. 

He fixed himself a few leftovers for dinner and then sat down on the comfy couch to watch some television. A lot had changed there too. Shows he watched when he was younger, were now on Netflix. The newer stuff lacked imagination. He found himself watching a show called Lucifer about the devil coming to earth. Dean thought he was kind of sexy and funny as hell. Dean chuckled at his own joke.

Since he had to pull his first Saturday morning shift, he made his way up to his room at nine. As he brushed his teeth, he eyed his reflection. “You’re officially old, Winchester. Friday night and you’re ready for bed like a toddler.”

As he settled between the sheets and picked up a hardback he’d taken from Eileen’s bookshelf, a part of him wanted to say fuck it, get dressed, and hit a bar. With his thumb holding his place in the book, he stared at the ceiling. What would it be like to have someone touch him... want him? Huffing out a tired breath, he started to read. An hour later, his eyelids were too heavy to continue.

Dean turned off the lamp and turned onto his side. His thoughts wondered to his job. Cas was teaching him so much and he felt as if he finally belonged somewhere. Soon, he’d find a place of his own and then, the only thing left would be to find that special someone. An apple pie kind of life. He could put his father’s betrayal and those wasted years behind him.

The alarm startled him out of a dream. He’d been in a suit, looking out at a sea of smiling faces. He was looking at someone, but it wasn’t clear who. Quietly, so not to wake his brother and sister-in-law, he showered and dressed for the day. Saturdays, the bakery opened at the same time as weekdays, but closed earlier. 

He let himself in with his key, the sense of pride still feeling new. Cas, always early, smiled at him. “Good morning, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas.” Dean went to his bin and dumped his lunch and car keys inside. He checked the clipboard on the wall to check out any new orders. “We got three dozen cupcakes going out today?”

“Yes, the order came late yesterday. I thought you could handle those.”

“Sure thing,” Dean responded and reached for his recipe book. “Says they want strawberry shortcake?”

“For a birthday party.”

“Got it.” Dean gathered his ingredients and was mixing the batter before they spoke again. “Who is in front today?” Dean knew Jack was off with his mother on a mini-vacation.

“Meg.” Dean kept his eyes down, humming noncommittedly. His good mood disappeared. 

 _Satan Incarnate_  walked in a couple of hours later. “Morning, Clarence,” she said, kissing Cas’ cheek. To Dean, she called out, “Hello, you.” Cas closed his eyes and looked pained. Dean ignored her. 

Thankfully, she stayed in the front of the bakery most of the morning. At noon, Dean took his lunch box outside to eat. He brought up Craigslist on his phone and began looking for places to rent. It was discouraging. The rent was much higher than it used to be. With what he was making at the bakery, he could barely afford a one bedroom, and that was without utilities and food. He was brought out of his depressed musings by Cas taking the seat across from him. “What has you looking so down?”

“The price of apartments.”

“I thought you lived with your brother,” Cas said, unwrapping a sandwich made on thick sourdough bread. 

“I do, but that was only supposed to be temporary. He’s married. They have their own lives. They don’t need me there cramping their style.”

“Ah,” Cas nodded and took a bite. While he chewed, he seemed to be contemplating the meaning of life by the serious expression he wore. Dean, growing even more discouraged, put down his phone with a growl of disgust. Maybe he should buy a used camper or something. He could park it at one of the RV parks. “I have several empty bedrooms.”

Dean’s head jerked up. “What?”

“My grandmother left me a large home in Cambridge. It has five bedrooms. I don’t have a use for that many.”

“You asking me to be your roommate, Cas?”

“It was a stupid idea. You would probably want something more private. I’m sure you have someone in your life...” Cas suddenly seemed uncomfortable and gulped down half his water bottle.

“I never thought about having a roommate. Not that I’m opposed.” Dean shrugged. “Don’t you have someone to... you know...” A roommate. He wouldn’t have to come up with as much cash and he was pretty sure Cas had furniture and shit like pans and forks.

“No. And even if I do find someone, the house is very big.”

“Wouldn’t it be weird for you to have one of your employees living with you?” Cas had offered him a job and now, a home. It was beginning to seem like Cas was one of those guys that people took advantage of. He was just way too nice. “It would seem kind of like I was mooching.”

“I would charge you rent, Dean.” The smirk and the exaggerated eye roll made Dean laugh. “I don’t want you to feel pressured. Why don’t you come over tomorrow and see what you think?”

“Sure. I can look at it,” Dean said, his mouth full of his own sandwich. 


	4. Burning Bush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been awhile since I updated. That is not the norm. I had NashCon to prepare for and then go to. The admin team that helps me run the palominopup FB page met me there and we had a fantastic time. I got to meet a few of my loyal readers and was thrilled. 
> 
> After the Con, life hit me full force - unpacking, laundry, work, work, work, family visits, classes to teach, work.... UGH. But I'm hoping I'm back on track now.

Sam ambled into the kitchen, hair standing on end. He reached for the coffee pot before muttering good morning. Dean smirked and flipped another pancake. “Don’t you ever sleep in?” 

“I did this morning. I got up at six,” Dean said cheekily. Sam rolled his eyes and settled back against the counter. 

“How’s the job going?” They talked over dinner most nights, so Sam knew Dean loved his job. He shrugged. 

“I’ve told you that it’s good.” 

“Yeah, but your life revolves around us and the bakery. Don’t you want... more?” Dean kept his eyes on the bubbles in the batter, spatula held at the ready. 

“Sometimes. Who would want me though?” He whispered. He briefly wondered if this was Sam’s subtle way of letting him know he needed to find a new place to live. 

“Anyone would be lucky to have you, Dean. You were innocent.” He felt Sam move closer.  _Please don’t hug me_. Please don’t hug me became a silent mantra. Sam must have picked up on his vibe and he patted Dean on the shoulder instead. 

After eating with his brother, and blissfully keeping the topic to things like the weather and baseball, Dean showered and dressed. Cas had sent him a text with his address on it and he was strangely nervous. Living with his boss would be weird, wouldn’t it? He’d never be able to lay out with a hangover and say he had the flu. Not that he’d do that anyway, but still. Weird, but oh so tempting. Cas was a great guy and he would be giving Sam and Eileen privacy. 

He crossed the Longfellow Bridge and headed east on Broadway. Cas’ house was on Traill Street. As he turned into the neighborhood, Dean slowed the car to a stop. The homes were all stately and historic. Old money lived here. Dean began having second and third thoughts. How would an ex-con, even an innocent one, fit in around here? Then he saw it. The house was Victorian with lots of detail. A short, wrought iron fence surrounding the beautifully landscaped yard. It was three stories tall with intricate gingerbread embellishments. Dean stared at it for a full minute and then shook his head. Without a backward glance, he turned around and headed back to Sam’s. 

When he got there, he sat in the driveway staring at his phone. Cas would be waiting for him. He began to type. 

 **Text to Cas/10:14 AM – I’ve thought about your offer and really appreciate it, but I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to live with you. If I don’t work out and you have to fire me, it would be awkward. I will find something soon. I do appreciate it though.**  

Dean read over it twice before pressing send. He made himself scarce since both Sam and Eileen were off on Sundays too. He did laundry and took a drive over to the mall. He purposefully kept his phone off. He knew Cas would text back or even try to call and Dean had to be strong. He couldn’t risk this job.  

When he finally couldn’t stand it anymore, he checked for messages. He sat down near the waterfall at the Copley Square Mall and read Cas’ responses. 

 **Text from Cas/10:17 AM – I understand your hesitation. It was inappropriate of me to suggest it. I hope you can forgive me.**  

 **Text from Cas/10:24 AM – Unless you kill Meg, I don’t see myself firing you. You are a hard worker, Dean.**  

 **Text from Cas/11:48 AM – I'm so sorry. My last text suggested that you were capable of killing someone. I humbly apologize. It was in very poor taste. Please forgive me.**  

 **Text from Cas/12:22 PM – Dean? Did I cross a line?**  

Dean hung his head. He was the one freaking out and Cas was thinking it was all his fault.  

 **Text to Cas/1:07 PM – You have nothing to apologize for, dude. I will see you tomorrow morning.**  

He hoped Cas wouldn’t make it weird.  

The next morning, he was greeted with Cas’ usual smile and ‘good morning, Dean’. There were no awkward moments, no attempts to apologize again, and no chick flick crap. Dean was good. Everything was copasetic. Jack was back from vacation and Kevin was out on deliveries. After lunch, there was a lull and Cas came up to observe Dean’s lattice work on an apple pie. “Very nice, Dean. When you finish, I have something to show you.” Thinking it was a new technique, Dean nodded and finished the pie. 

When the pie was in one of the huge ovens and the timer set, Cas motioned for Dean to follow him. Out the back door, he began climbing the set of metal steps leading to the second story. Dean had always been curious about them, but usually forgot to ask where they lead when he got inside the bakery. Cas pulled his key ring out of his pocket and unlocked a door. With his hand on the knob, he turned to Dean. “This apartment came with the building. It’s a disaster, but with some paint and a little elbow grease, I think it could have potential.” Dean gave him a quizzical look and Cas smiled shyly. “I don’t have the time to do a lot of work on it, but I thought if you wanted to give it a go, I’d knock off half the rent and pay for the supplies until it was livable.” 

“Cas, I... I don’t know what to say, man.” 

“You haven’t seen it yet,” Cas laughed softly. “You might run away screaming.” He threw open the door and stepped aside so Dean could enter first. The apartment was small, basically one room with a separate bathroom. The kitchen was a simple galley plan and Dean noted the older refrigerator and stove. It was empty save for a bunch of boxes and layers of dust. “I know it’s not much...” Cas said from behind him. 

“No... it’s good.” It had potential. Dean let his imagination paint the walls, clear out the debris, insert some furniture. He turned to Cas and grinned. “I’ll take it.” 

Cas grinned back. “I will draw up a lease. I can let you have it for six hundred a month including utilities, okay? I think with a booster, you can use the bakery’s internet connection. You will have to work out cable with the local provider if you want TV.” He stopped and toed one of the boxes with his shoe.  

They spent a few more minutes looking over the place and Dean was happy to see that the fridge and stove worked and were clean. The bathroom was tiny and held a toilet, a pedestal sink, and a small shower stall. There was a space for a stackable washer and dryer combo. He knew he could pick up one at the local big box hardware stores. 

So, it began. For the next week, Dean worked his normal shift and then scrubbed and painted. On his days off, Sam would come by to help him. On occasion, Jack or Kevin would keep him company. Jack’s hero worship was cute and Dean couldn’t help but like the boy. He sure didn’t mind getting his hands dirty. He’d also met Jack’s mother, Kelly, when she picked up Jack in the late afternoons. She was a quiet woman, but Dean picked up on her adoration of Cas. Was it one-sided?  

Cas hadn’t ventured up to the apartment much. When his workday was over, he would head home... or wherever he went during his off hours. Did the man have a personal life? Someone to rub his tired feet? Someone to... Dean swallowed. What was he doing? He had to stop thinking about his boss that way. 

By the following Saturday, Dean’s new home was spotless and ready for furniture. The local Lowes delivered his washer dryer combo late that evening and installed it. He locked up and headed down the stairs, following the two deliverymen. Hopefully, this would be his last night at Sam’s house. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel welcome, because that was far from the truth. Mainly, he needed his own space to start the rest of his life, post-prison. He had a job and a home. The only thing left on his mental list of dreams was to find a person to share his life with. Maybe he did need to get out more.  

As he settled into the driver’s seat, the back door of the bakery opened and Meg sauntered out. She glanced over, gave him a sneer, and walked to her car. Dean watched the red Audi convertible screech into traffic. He couldn’t imagine how their friendship worked. Cas was a great guy. Meg was an ice queen. 

He met Cas at the local thrift shop because he’d offered the use of the delivery van for Dean’s furniture. He greeted Dean with a smile as usual. “Saw Scary Spice at the bakery this morning. She really hates me.” 

“Scary Spice?” He looked perplexed for a few seconds and then he chuckled. “Meg. She doesn’t hate you, Dean. She’s just... protective.” 

They walked inside and Dean tugged him toward a bunch of couches. Most were pretty ugly, but Dean knew he’d find something decent if he looked hard enough. “Protective? Of the bakery?” 

“No, me.” Dean stopped by a sage green sofa that wasn’t that bad. He faced Cas, his brow furrowed in disbelief.  

“You? What do you need protection from?” 

“I don’t have the best taste in men.” Dean had had an idea Cas wasn’t totally straight, but he hadn’t expected him to just toss it out there. Dean was bi, but he never talked about it with anyone, not anymore. 

When Dean finished shopping, they loaded up a bed frame, a dresser, a couch, and a rickety bookcase, Dean knew he could fix with a few extra nails.  

The next stop was at a mattress superstore. He got what was on sale and was pleased it was memory foam.  

On their way back to the bakery, Dean called Sam, and his brother met them there to help with the unloading. The three men made short work of setting up the apartment and when Dean looked around, he was relatively pleased by the way it was coming together. He thanked Cas for his help and watched his boss close the door behind him.  

“He’s a nice guy,” Sam said, watching Dean speculatively.  

“He is,” Dean replied, looking back with equal intensity. He wasn’t going to let Sam turn this into something it wasn’t. Sam shrugged and picked up his keys. 

“I’m going home to my wife. What are your plans?” 

“I’m heading to the local Walmart and buy sheets and everything else I need. I’ll be staying here tonight.” 

“Dean, there is no rush.” 

“I know, but I need to stand on my own two feet. Ya know?” 

The Walmart had everything he needed and then some. His account had taken a severe hit, but he still had a few thousand tucked in savings and a steady income. As long as he didn’t screw it up. 

Back home, Dean made several trips up and down the stairs.  _Home_ . He smiled as he began to unpack and put his new place in order. By the time it was dark out, his bed was made up with new sheets, pillows, and a denim blue comforter. There was food in his refrigerator and his toiletries were in the bathroom. Yep,  _home_. 

Since he was right above the bakery, Monday he got to sleep in an extra thirty minutes. When he arrived, Cas was making a spun sugar masterpiece. “Whoa, Cas, pretty fancy for us, isn’t it?” 

“Special order,” Cas answered with a grin. “I don’t get a chance to really play with the day to day things, but I like to show off sometimes. This is for my friend, Balthazar, he’s proposing, and we are going to tuck the ring inside this.” He placed the black velvet box in the center of the puffs. The croquembouche would form a tower around it and be drizzled with even more spun sugar. “I’m calling it The Burning Bush.” 

Dean snorted at the play on words. “You and your names, dude.”  

He watched Cas work as he made several batches of cookie dough. The Rapture cookies were still his favorite and he enjoyed making them. Dean loved how Cas’ long fingers formed the elaborate dessert tower. He really was a nice looking guy. “Do you have someone...” Dean froze. He hadn’t meant to ask the question. 

“Someone?” Cas looked up at him, hands poised above the final row of puffs. 

“Never mind,” Dean said, unable to make eye contact. It was none of his business. Silence settled around them as both men continued their respective tasks. 

“I don’t have a romantic partner, if that’s what you were asking,” Cas finally stated. Dean looked up. Cas was standing by the completed pastry tower.  

“It’s none of my business.” Dean was grateful for the scoop, click, plop routine of preparing the cookies for baking.  

“I disagree.” 

Cas’ simple response had Dean looking up again. “What? Why?” 

“I have noticed that you seem afraid to cross some nonexistent line between employee and employer. I think a good manager gets to know his staff and if he treats them like family, they, in turn, become loyal to not only him, but the business itself. This is your bakery too, Dean. I’m fiercely proud of this place, but even more, I’m proud of my team. You included. I’d like to think we are becoming friends.”

“Oh... uh... sure.” Cas’ smile seemed indulgent and Dean felt himself relax. 

“And what about you, Dean, anyone?” 

Dean shook his head adamantly. “No, man. I haven’t had the time since I...” Dean let the sentence die. He hated saying ‘since I got out of prison’. It was in his past. He hadn’t committed a crime. He needed to stop referencing that part of his history. Or he’d never find someone. Someone he could talk to, someone who could look at him and see a good person instead of an ex-con.  _Someone like Cas_. Dean froze and his eyes met Cas’. His boss was waiting for him to finish. “... since I started work here... and the move... working on the apartment... and sleep... gotta sleep.” Cas’ expression had turned quizzical. And no wonder with Dean’s sudden influx of diarrhea of the mouth. He stopped and gave Cas a parody of a smile. It was time to change the subject. “Hey, yeah, gotta get these babies in the oven.” He picked up the cookie sheet and turned away from those beautiful eyes. 


	5. Cupid's Bows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fandom got some devastating news today. We can do two things - we can cry and rant or we can make the last season perfect for our favorite actors. We can go to Cons and cheer for them, laugh with them, be the family they created. That's what I am choosing to do.

At the end of his second month at Heaven’s Sweetness, Dean opened his paycheck and saw an increase.  Cas must have made a mistake. He waited until the end of the day when Kevin had left and Jack was busy cleaning up the front. Dean finished the last batch of Cupid’s Bows, a play on chocolate croissants, and then knocked softly on  Cas ’ office door. “Come in,” he called out.

Dean stepped inside the small office. “Hey,  Cas , I think you made a mistake with my check.” Dean set the check in front of  Cas . His boss graced him with a confused expression. He picked it up and squinted. Dean thought it was adorable.  Cas needed reading glasses and everyone knew it, but the man refused to accept that his eyes needed help.

“Mistake? No, it’s correct.” He pushed the check back toward Dean.

“But, it’s too much.” By Dean’s calculations, it was about seventy-five dollars higher than it should have been.

Cas pushed back in his chair and smiled. “Dean, I gave you a raise.  I wish it could have been more. You’ve become a real asset to the bakery. You have made my job easier and I’m lucky to have you.” 

“A raise?” Dean’s mind refused to understand the concept that he was worth more. He shook his head. “But...”

Cas stood up and moved into Dean’s personal space. “Dean, you deserve it.” He took Dean’s hand and placed the check in it. Then closed his fist around it. “Now, go home, I’m not paying you overtime.”  Cas laughed softly and Dean nibbled on his lower lip.

“Thanks,  Cas . I... thanks.” He left the office unsure of how he was feeling. Once he was in his apartment, he straightened out the crumpled check and grinned. He got a raise. A raise. He felt like celebrating. He showered, dressed in his tightest, ball-hugging jeans and a black and white checked shirt. He spritzed on some cologne and looked at his image in the mirror. Pursing his lips, he nodded. Maybe it was time to get laid.

Only thing was, it had been a long time since Dean had been out and about. In his younger days, he hung out at a few of the local dives, but he wasn’t in the mood for that kind of clientele. He sat on his couch and asked Google for recommendations. After visiting a few websites... and who knew bars had their own websites these days... he settled on one called Club Café down on Columbus Avenue. It had been around for a long time, but Dean hadn’t ever been inside. 

It was a short drive, but parking was a bitch. Thankfully, it was before the place started hopping. He got in before they charged a cover and stood at the entrance for a few seconds to scope out the place. He spied a few empty stools at the bar and made his way over. “What do you have on tap?”

The bartender rattled through his list and Dean chose a Sam Adams. He took a sip and turned in his seat to look at the place. The dance floor was big, but empty at the moment. Dean imagined it would be crowded in about an hour or so. As he people watched, he questioned why he picked this particular club. Was it because it was gay friendly? Was the crush on his boss making his subconscious crave a man’s touch? 

He sighed and slugged back half his beer. Movement at the door caught his attention and his mouth dropped open.  Cas , Meg, and a couple of other people stood at the edge of the dance floor. Dean quickly turned his back to them. He motioned to the bartender and picked up glass. The bartender nodded as Dean changed seats, the new one more in the shadows. 

The group of newcomers took a table and a server hurried over to take their orders. Dean could watch and not be seen from his new vantage point. The only other man in the group was younger, maybe late twenties. He was sitting next to  Cas and seemed  starstruck . Dean felt a surge of jealousy.

The DJ picked that moment to crank up the volume of the music. It wasn’t quite techno, but damn close. The beat pulsed and the light show began. Several people moved to the dance floor, but Dean’s eyes stayed on  Cas ’ table. Meg stood and grabbed  Cas ’ hand, dragging him out there. While Meg moved easily,  Cas was the proverbial white man. Dean smiled at the man’s complete lack of rhythm. At one point, Meg got close and said something.  Cas shook his head with a frown. Dean watched with interest as the two argued. It was Meg who threw up her hands in defeat. 

As the next song began,  Cas went back to the table. Meg followed at a slower pace. Dean’s eyes narrowed further when  Cas bent to the young dude’s ear and with a megawatt smile, he took  Cas ’ hand. Dean’s stomach rolled as they took to the dance floor. It wasn’t a song for slow dancing, but the guy was getting  handsy with  Cas . His boss didn’t look thrilled, but he wasn’t saying no either. Dean turned away. It was just as well.  Cas was out of his league  _ and _ his employer.

“Well, well, I didn’t think they’d let people like you in a nice place like this,” Meg said from behind him. Dean took a deep breath, tried to count to ten, but only made it to four.

“People like me?” He faced her.

“Hey, I’m curious, while in the big house, were you someone’s bitch?” Dean could feel rage heat his skin. 

“You’re the only bitch I see around here, Meg. Why don’t you go crawl back under that rock, huh?”

“I admire your quick wit, Dean-o. Really I do,” she flashed him a fake smile and sipped her cocktail, a red fruity thing in a martini glass. Her eyes went to the dance floor. “They make an attractive couple, don’t you think?”

Dean refused to be baited. He took a sip of beer and faced forward. 

“Mick is an architect at one of the biggest firms in Boston. Ivy League college. Well-to-do family. And God, his accent. Panty dropping... or in this case, boxer dropping.” She laughed at her crude joke. Dean focused on the bottle of Crown Royal behind the bar. When she didn’t get a response, she nudged his arm. “Come on, Dean-o, you  gotta know  Cas is too good for you.”

“He’s my boss, Meg. My boss and my friend. That’s it.” He turned to look at her.

“That’s it? God, you’re pathetic. I’ve seen the way you look at him. Oh, don’t get me wrong,  Cas thinks you hung the fucking moon, but know this,  Cas picks the wrong men and once he realizes it, they’re history.”

“And you know what’s best for him? See, I think  Cas is smarter than you give him credit for.” Dean jutted his chin toward the dance floor. “Even a blind man could see Mick isn’t what  Cas wants.” It was true. The younger guy had his hands on  Cas ’ hips, but  Cas ’ eyes were looking at something over his head and his arms remained at his side. He smirked at Meg’s frown. “A piece of advice from an ex-con... push someone too far, and you’ll lose them.” Dean downed his beer and slammed the glass on the bar. He stood up. “Have a nice night, Meg.”

Dean was proud of his exit line. He lifted his chin and headed for the exit. “Dean... Dean... wait.”  _ Shit _ .  Cas had seen him. Dean pasted a smile on his face and met  Cas at the edge of the dance floor. He was happy to see Mick standing where  Cas had left him, looking pissed. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah. This place isn’t my style.”  Cas ’ face fell and Dean would have given anything to make him smile again. “Don’t let me keep you from your date. I’ll see you Monday.”

“He’s not my date.” 

“You might want to tell him that.” Dean knew he sounded petulant, but didn’t care. Meg’s words were still in the forefront of his mind. He wasn’t good enough.  Cas looked back at the man he left standing alone.

“I have. I think Meg led him believe...” He stopped. “It doesn’t matter.” They both stood, staring at each other, the flashing lights coloring their faces in shades of blues and reds. “Dean...”

“ Cas ...” Both stopped. “You go.”

“Will you let me buy you a drink?”

Dean opened his mouth to say no, but he saw Meg approach Mick and speak to him. Both glared their way. “Sure. I’d like that.” 

It was a bad idea. He should be keeping his distance. He should find a person to take home and fuck all thoughts of  Cas out of him. He should walk out of this place and never come back.  Cas placed his hand in the small of Dean’s back and all those reasons disappeared from his mind.

Instead of leading Dean to the table, he steered him toward the bar. “What are you drinking?” 

“Sam Adams,” Dean replied, his back still warm from  Cas ’ touch.  Cas motioned for the bartender and ordered two. They stood quietly while they waited. “Shouldn’t you maybe go back to your friends?”  _ Please say no _ .

“They’ll be fine without me,”  Cas said with a soft smile. “Meg is probably pissed off at me anyway.”

“Blind date gone wrong?” Dean asked. 

“Something like that. Meg likes to think she knows what I need.”  Cas ’ eyes were laser focused on Dean’s and he couldn’t have looked away for any amount of money.

“What do you need,  Cas ?” Oh, hell, why had he said that? It was the type of line he’d say to pick up a quick lay.

“Someone who shares my passion for life. Someone honest and can make me laugh. Someone like...” He seemed to catch himself and he broke the stare, his eyes now on his glass. He cleared his throat and looked over at the table where his friends and Mick were sitting. Mick glanced over at them and then stood. They both watched him walk out of the club.

“Meg said he was Ivy League.”

Cas shrugged. “A diploma from Yale doesn’t make you a good person. When the world is handed to you, what is left to fight for?” He inhaled and another soft smile touched his lips. “What else did Meg tell you?”

Dean could have thrown her under the bus. Her words would have ticked  Cas off, but he knew coming between friends wasn’t cool. "Not much. She thought he was your type.”

“In another lifetime, maybe,”  Cas responded and leaned closer. Dean could smell his aftershave. Something with a hint of citrus. Dean’s eyes dropped to  Cas ’ lips, then back up again. In the dim light of the club, he couldn’t make out  Cas ’ expression. “Dean, I...” The kiss was brief and so soft, Dean was sure he was imagining things. Then  Cas stepped away quickly, knocking against the person behind him. “Sorry... I’m sorry.” Before Dean could call out,  Cas was gone, disappearing into the crowd.  _ Fuck _ .

He sat at the bar nursing his now warm beer for another fifteen minutes. A group of women, already slightly drunk, took a table close to him and sent lots of signals that they were up for some playtime. He smiled, but wasn’t inclined to join them. His mind was on  Cas and that kiss. 

At the stop light on the way home, he touched his lips. It wasn’t passionate, not in the least. Affectionate, maybe. Did  Cas kiss his friends? Maybe he pitied Dean. Did he think Dean was touch starved? He was, but he didn’t need anyone to offer a pity fuck. Not that  Cas offered sex...

By the time Dean got home, he was doubting the kiss ever happened. He wanted  Cas to kiss him and he’d just dreamed the whole thing. He threw his keys on the table in frustration. Who was he kidding?  Cas kissed him. Had he been drunk? He hadn’t acted like it. Besides, Dean had paid attention.  Cas only had one drink and half a beer.  _ So, not drunk _ .

Stripping down to his boxers, he flopped down on the couch, the leather one he’d  gotten a sweet deal on at the resale shop. It wasn’t his Saturday to work, so he could sleep late. That thought led to him remember that  Cas would be downstairs in the bakery tomorrow. Below him... and if that didn’t get his imagination working overtime...

Dean skimmed the channels on the television Sam and Eileen gave him for a housewarming present. He stopped on The Food Network and watched Diners, Drive-ins and Dives. His mind kept returning to that moment at the bar. What would it be like if Cas really kissed him. Like _really_ kissed him. What would those lips feel like on his neck, his chest, his... Dean groaned and rubbed his palm over his growing erection. 

By his calculations, it had been fifteen years, six months, and thirteen days since he’d had sex of his own free will with another person. But who was counting? 

He’d bet his next paycheck that  Cas was a generous lover. Was he a top, bottom, or like Dean, who dug both depending on his mood and who he was with? 

Guy  Fieri’s voice began to seep into his fantasy, so he turned off the television. He sprawled back on the couch and grabbed a couple of tissues from the box on the end table, tucking them under his thigh for clean up. Now, where was he? Oh, yeah...

Cas being a generous lover... Dean closed his eyes and an image of his boss filled his imagination. Dark hair, rumpled from Dean’s hands, that perfect face with a hint of stubble... just enough to scratch his thighs. Dean moaned softly and moved his fingertips up and down his shaft.  Cas would be naked... no, wearing worn jeans and nothing else. Dean would cup his hard cock through the denim and  Cas would rut into his hand. He’d take one of Dean’s nipples in his mouth and bite down... 

Dean's  left hand moved over his torso and then pinched his nipple hard enough to hurt. He arched his back and curled his fingers around his cock. He felt the blood pulsing as he stroked it slowly. “ Emmmm ,” he hummed at the myriad sensations his brain was receiving. 

He pinched and pulled at his nipples as his other hand moved up and down his cock slowly. He didn’t want to rush this. The in-his-head  Cas would be kneeling between his legs, looking at him with those ridiculous blue eyes. And Dean couldn’t forget that voice. Rough and gravelly... even more so in the throes of passion. Dean chuckled softly... he sounded like a romance writer. He would wager that  Cas liked hearts and flowers though. Candles flickering...

Precum made the slide of his hand easier and he quickened his pace. Dean rocked his hips up and down like he was thrusting into  Cas ’ willing body. The man would be riding him, his hands splayed across Dean’s chest. He’d be stroking his cock, his eyes closed, lost in the feeling of Dean fucking him. “Yeah... yeah... fuck... ”  Dean’s balls tightened. He was close. His orgasm rolled over him, leaving him panting and lightheaded. After a moment, he fumbled for the tissues and wiped down his stomach and chest, wishing that it was  Cas ’ cum marking him. Uncaring, he tossed them onto the floor and relaxed into the couch cushions. His lips twitched. He might not be able to have  Cas , but his imagination was damn good. 


	6. Paradise

Saturday morning, Dean stretched and yawned and then he remembered the kiss. He bounded out of bed and ran to the window that looked down into the  back parking lot. There was Cas’ motorcycle next to the delivery van. He looked at his watch. It was only seven. He’d slept late,  _ for him _ . Cas didn’t ride the bike often, usually he drove his old car. Thoughts of Cas astride it sent a shiver up Dean’s spine. He raked his fingers through his hair. This was ridiculous. Crushing on his boss could not end well. 

He was about to remove his hand from where it held the slats of the blinds apart, when Meg’s car careened into the parking lot. Dean frowned. She was here awfully Goddamned early. He figured she’d be laid out drunk somewhere after seeing her put away the drinks last night. Then she got out of the car and he smiled sardonically. She was in the same clothes. Was this her walk of shame? Why the bakery?

Letting the slats fall, he started  pacing the living room. With his lower lip between his teeth, he stared at the floor. He narrowed his eyes and started to do the math. Knowing what he was about to do was wrong, but not caring at this point, he went into his kitchen and snagged a glass out of the cabinet. Finding the  spot he needed, he got down on the floor, prone on his stomach.

Using the glass to amplify the sound, he strained to listen. He could hear the industrial sized mixer. He scooched over a few inches. He heard Cas’ voice, low but mostly clear. Smiling at his ingenuity, he settled in.

_ “Meg, I’m not discussing this with you.”  _

_ “He’s all wrong for you,  _ _ Castiel _ _. He’s going to break your heart.” _

There was a pause and Dean could imagine Cas’ icy stare. He’d never been on the receiving end, but he’d seen it once with a supplier that tried to cheat the bakery. He’d seen it when Cas read the comments on social media about how the bakery was for queers only and people should stay away.

_ “I can manage my heart just fine.” _

_ “Oh, my God, you love him.” _

Dean’s breath caught. What had Meg seen that caused her to say that? 

_ “Again, this is not your concern.” _

_ “Really? Well, I think it is. I’ve picked up the pieces before. Remember Michael? Bart? Any of those names ring a bell? They ripped your heart out and I was there to paste it back together. You have shitty taste in men,  _ _ Castiel _ _. Dean is an ex-con. He’s bad news. Is that why you fell for him? The bad boy image? Jeez, I thought that was a girl thing.” _

_ “Dean is not an ex-con. He was innocent. I know you. I know you’ve looked up everything there was to find about him. So, surely, you’ve read that part of his history. He was framed by his own father.” _

_ “Yeah, and boo  _ _ hoo _ _ , that’s a shitty thing to happen to anyone, but  _ _ Castiel _ _ , it doesn’t change the fact that he was in prison for fifteen years. Fifteen years. That will change someone. With those looks, he was probably...” _

_ “Not another word, Meg.” _

Dean winced at the sudden increase in volume. Cas was pissed and it came through loud and clear.

_ “ _ _ Castiel _ _ , please just listen to me...” _

_ “No, I will not. Twenty years of friendship does not give you the right to...to say those things about Dean. He’s a good man, Meg. He’s kind and yes, I do think I love him. But I don’t know if he even likes me that way. He didn’t return my...” _

Dean waited. Shit. He could hear something, but couldn’t make out the words. He sat up, knowing he overheard something that was private. Cas loved him. Or at least he thought he loved him. He stared in awe at the floor. 

He stood up and put the glass in the sink. His hands gripped the counter. What did he do with the information?  _ “Hey, Cas, I was spying on you and heard you tell Meg you loved me. That’s pretty awesome, dude. Let’s do something about that, huh?” _

“Christ on a crutch,” Dean muttered. He closed his eyes when he heard Meg’s tires screech out of the lot. That poor car. It deserved a better owner. 

After he’d showered and got dressed, Dean straightened up his apartment and killed time sorting his laundry. The bakery would be busy until around noon. He turned on the TV and then turned it off again. He needed to get out of here before he drove himself crazy. Grabbing his keys and wallet, he jogged down the stairs.

The grocery store was busy and he had to wait in line to check out behind a woman and a bratty toddler. Normally, Dean loved kids and couldn’t wait for Sam and Eileen to have one or five. They probably weren’t in the cards for him and he’d made himself okay with that years ago.

When he pulled in, the motorcycle was still there. As was Kevin’s little Chevy Spark. Dean knew Jack was still inside too. Since Jack’s anxiety disorder made itself known when he was stressed, Kelly hadn’t let him drive yet. Dean understood her concerns, but he thought Jack could handle it. Maybe he’d clear it with Kelly to take the boy out in the Impala and let him drive on some backroads. Would that be butting in where he didn't belong? He’d ask Cas.  _ Cas.  _ He’d have to talk to the man sometime.

Once the groceries were put away, he took a couple of deep breaths and then went back down the steps. At the back door of the bakery, he hesitated. How should he act? Like nothing happened last night? Crap. Shit like this didn’t happen in prison. The real world was confusing as fuck.

He burst through the door and pasted on a grin. “Are y’all surviving without me?”

Both Cas and Kevin looked up from an intricate fruit tart. Had to be a special order. “Barely,” Cas said dryly, but his soft smile gave him away.

“Who’s that for?” Dean came closer and  examined the artfully arranged pastry. Circles of strawberries, blueberries, kiwi, and mandarin orange segments made it colorful and appetizing. 

“No one. We just had some time on our hands and Kelly brought us the berries from the farmer’s market this morning. I had some kiwi I was going to experiment with and we keep cans of the mandarins for my Paradise Cake.” Dean knew that cake was a crowd favorite. They sold about three a week. Special order only. “I thought we’d taste it and see how it could be improved before seeing how it would sell.”

“Oh, I see how it is. You experiment on the good stuff while I’m off work.” Dean pouted, eying the tart lustfully.

Cas laughed, like Dean knew he would. “I was going to call you down to taste it, Dean. We need your discerning palate to approve anything we do.”

“Har-de-har-har,” Dean said sarcastically. “What are you glazing it with?” Dean picked up a tasting spoon and dipped it into the pot of golden colored glaze sitting next to the tart.

“I wanted something different. I mixed local honey, a touch of cornstarch, orange juice, and a pinch of cayenne pepper.” Dean let his taste buds savor the concoction. He got a blast of sweetness and then the heat followed it, just enough to notice, but not too much. He nodded.

“I like it.”

“But...” Cas tilted his head and waited. He knew Dean too well.

“I’d add some Grand Marnier to pump up the orange flavor.” Cas was looking at him like he was a star pupil.

“Perfect. Go get it.” Dean walked over to the storage cabinet where they kept the alcoholic beverages used for their confections. He plucked the liqueur from the shelf and returned to the work table. Eyeballing it, he splashed some into the pot, then stirred. The three of them picked up clean spoons and tasted. “Remarkable.”

“I’ll second that,” Kevin said enthusiastically. 

With careful precision, Cas brushed the fruit with the glaze. The aroma was heavenly. Cas picked up the tart and slid it into the fridge to chill. “We can taste in an hour.”

“Cool,” Dean said and glanced around looking for something to do to kill time. Cas was looking at him quizzically.

“Dean, you  _ are _ off today.”

“Yeah, I know, but I was kind of bored upstairs.” Dean shoved his hands in his pockets and stared down at his feet. Cas probably thought he was pathetic. A real loser with no friends and nothing to do on a Saturday afternoon.

“Kevin, could you go check on the display cases and see if Jack needs anything?” Kevin looked from Cas to Dean and back again.

“Uh, sure...” He left them and Dean felt the butterflies in his stomach doing loops and stalls like the crazy Flying Tigers.

“Dean, about last night...”

“Cas, can we...”

“You first.”

“No, you,” Dean said  adamantly , gesturing for Cas to talk. 

Cas, always so confident in the bakery, suddenly looked nervous. He picked up the cleaning supplies and began scouring and sanitizing the work table. “I’m sorry... I may have overstepped my bounds and it was inappropriate. You are a valued employee and I would hate for you to think that I was harassing you in any way.”

He looked like he was going to keep apologizing and it was painful to watch. “Can you stop with the bullshit?” Cas’ eyes widened in shock. Dean shrugged.

“If I didn’t want you to kiss me, it wouldn’t have happened.” Unless there were a few large inmates holding him down. He shook his head to get those thoughts tucked back into a dark corner of his mind. “Cas... Look, what I’m trying to say is... that... I wanted it.”

“It?” Cas raised an eyebrow.

“The damn kiss. Okay, you happy now? I wanted the damn kiss. I wanted... want... more.”

Cas took a step back and banged into the shelves that held the sugar flowers. Dean winced, knowing how fragile they were.

“More? As in... more?” Dean wanted to laugh at Cas’ social ineptness, but he was feeling out of his element too.

“As in _more_ ,” Dean whispered. This was evolving into a romantic moment and Dean didn’t know what to do. “Cas, I’m not experienced...” At Cas’ scandalized expression, Dean laughed. “No, dude, I’m experienced, but not in relationships and shit.”

“Is that what you want? A relationship?” Cas was curling his hands around his apron, releasing, and then fisting the material again. At least, Dean wasn’t the only one nervous as fuck.

“Yeah, but if you don’t... that’s cool. Friends with be--”

“Don’t you dare,” Cas interrupted, his face suddenly angry. Dean wasn’t sure what he did wrong. “You are worth more than that, Dean. Much more. You have a lot to give someone. You’re... special.” The last words were whispered and for a second, Dean believed him.

“Are the grownups finished talking?” Kevin said from the doorway. Jack’s head appeared next to his, curiosity evident in his expression.

“No,” both men said at once. The two younger men shut the door and Dean laughed. 

“We are giving them a lot to talk about.”

“Jack told me a couple of weeks ago to ask you out,” Cas confessed. It was Dean’s  turn to look shocked.

“Jack? Our Jack?”

“It appears I wasn’t as covert as I thought. He called them ‘googgily  eyes’ .” 

“ Googgily eyes? Aren’t those the things that people glue on shit to fuck with their friends?” Dean had become addicted to memes in his down time.

“What?” Cas again looked confused.

“Never mind,” Dean waved it off. “So, he noticed you checking me out.” Dean felt a little smug knowing Cas was mooning over him.

“Shut up, Dean,” Cas said, trying to sound all stern, but Dean had his number now. Besides, the man loved him, he’d said so. To Meg anyway.

“I do have a nice butt,” Dean teased, turning to show off his ass.

“Your complete lack of modesty is so endearing,” Cas said dryly.

“Yeah, that’s me, endearing.”

Cas slowly and deliberately walked around the work table and stopped inches from Dean. “You are, Dean. Very much so.”

“Cas...” Dean couldn’t handle this. Cas was in love with him and Dean would ruin it. He ruined everything he touched. “You deserve better.” There, he said it. He said out loud what Meg told him last night. 

“Why does everyone seem to think I’m stupid and don’t know my own mind? Why does everyone suddenly think they need to make decisions for me? I can think for my fucking self. I’m forty fucking years old and will not be treated like a Goddamned child.” Okay, cussing Cas was hot as fuck, Dean thought as he took in the intense rage on Cas’ face. Is this what Meg saw this morning? If so, it’s no wonder she hightailed it out of here.

“Cas, maybe...” 

“No, you need to...” Dean didn’t hear what else Cas was going to say, because his mouth came down hard on  Dean’s. It was enough to bruise and Dean knew he wouldn’t have to question if this kiss really happened. Someone whimpered and Dean would swear on his mother’s grave it wasn’t him. It seemed like hours before Cas let him come up for air. He was breathless and he loosened his grip on Cas’ hips. When had he reached for them? “I believe in you, Dean,” Cas murmured again his cheek. “I... I want to be with you.”

“I’m scared, Cas.” Dean Winchester wasn’t afraid of anything, not after fifteen years of hell. But this... this had him shaking.  _ This _ had him terrified.  _ This _ , if it didn’t work out, had the ability to end him.

“What are you afraid of, Dean?”

Dean closed his eyes and let his forehead rest against Cas’. “Falling.”

“I will always be there to catch you.” A barely  there kiss grazed at the skin under his ear. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” The answer came out with no hesitation. None. Dean didn’t trust anyone but Sam, and lately, Eileen. This was huge. Dean felt something in him break free. “Yes,” he said with more confidence. “With my life.”

“All I want is your heart.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve had that for  a while now.”


	7. Angel Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Giving credit where credit is due, this chapter wouldn't be here without my BFF's help. She wrote some of this chapter as a way to kick me in my ass. It gave me the jumpstart I needed. I love you, Tiffany.

The sun woke Dean and he stretched. Sunday. The shop was closed and there were no muted sounds from below. He yawned and stared at the ceiling. Then his eyes widened. Today was  _ Sunday _ .  Cas had invited him over for lunch. It would be their first date. He bolted out of bed and opened the door to his small closet. Ten minutes later, he had nothing. All the new clothes he and Sam bought were all too... too what exactly? Was he overthinking this? It was just a meal.

Settling for a pair of jeans and a plain cotton button-down, he plopped onto his small sofa. He had time to kill and nothing to do. Cupcake Wars was on and he stopped there. His attention on the obvious mistakes the teams were making lasted for half the episode. It started with the jiggling of his leg, then the tapping of his fingertips on his thigh. He was nervous. No, terrified. He didn’t want to blow this. Meg really knew what she was saying. Prison did change someone, innocent or not. He wasn’t a blushing virgin going in. He’d ran with the wrong crowd in high school, they were the reason he quit.

Prison, though, he wasn’t prepared for the mind games from the guards or the inmates. His looks took him down a dark path. At first, he’d been forced to do certain acts, then later, he used those same acts to move up the food chain. No one wanted to damage those cock-sucking lips. He’d gotten really good at fighting too. His fists made him friends with those in the know, and enemies with the ones that would stab him in the back.  Cas didn’t know these things about Dean. The pre-date jitters turned into a sinking hole in the pit of his stomach. 

Cas said he would catch him, but who would catch  Cas when he realized Dean was everything Meg warned him about. He was about to call to cancel their plans, but knew  Cas deserved to be told face to face. 

His stomach churned as he drove closer and closer to Cas’ home. The house was just as beautiful as he remembered, only this time he had the balls to get out of the car and approach the generous front porch. The door opened before he could knock. Cas’ smile lit up Dean’s universe. He returned it with a parody of his own usua l grin.  C as narrowed his eyes sligh tly as if he could sense there was something wrong. “Come in, please.” 

The house was rich with history. Dean took in the antiques mixed with an eclectic abundance of potted plants. They filled teapots, planters of all shapes and sizes, and even an old red wagon made to look like a fairy lived in it . “Guess you have a green thumb, huh?”

“I try. I enjoy watching things grow,”  Cas said, watching Dean intently. 

“You  gonna give me the fifty-cent tour?” Dean kept his eyes on the room, refusing to make eye contact. As they moved from room to room,  Cas ’ unhappiness grew. Dean hated himself. 

The tour ended in the kitchen, where a small bistro table was set for two. A wonderful aroma came from the pot on the stove and Dean walked closer. “This smells awesome.”

“I thought I’d keep it simple. Vegetable soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. If you want to sit, I’ll make the sandwiches.”

Dean did as he was told and watched  Cas get some contraption out from a cabinet. Then he buttered what looked like freshly made bread. He cut thick slices of Cheddar off a slab and Dean’s mouth watered. When  Cas put the sandwiches into the small appliance, Dean laughed softly. “A panini press? That’s pretty cool.” 

“It works great for grilled cheese,”  Cas said without turning. 

“ Cas ...”

“No, Dean, let’s eat first. I want to have our first date. Let me have that.” Dean closed his eyes.  Cas already knew what was coming. Dean hung his head and waited.  Cas set out bowls of the soup and small plates with the crispy browned sandwiches. He poured them each a glass of lemonade from a pretty glass pitcher. Sprigs of mint floated on top.  Cas had gone out of his way to make this special. Dean would always remember this moment in time. His first and last date with the man who really was an angel. He’d saved Dean and made him believe in himself, if only for a little while.

They ate in silence. Or at least they tried. It was painful to watch as they nibbled and stirred, neither taking in much of the lovingly prepared food. Finally,  Cas pushed his plate and bowl to the center of the table and his eyes met Dean’s. “What changed?”

“Huh?” Dean winced as  Cas ’ chair screeched across the floor as he stood. He dropped his dishes into the sink and Dean was surprised they didn’t break. 

“Between yesterday and today, what changed? You said... you said I had your heart.”

Dean wanted to get up and go to him, to hold him and tell him that everything would be okay. Instead, he decided to rip the bandage off. It was better that way. “I spent fifteen years behind bars, Cas. I was raped.” Cas’ shoulders tensed and Dean saw where his hands gripped the counter with white-knuckled intensity. “But then I used my body to stay safe, to get things, to stop shit from going down. I was a whore. A prison whore. I’m tainted and someone like you... someone like you deserves better. You are so fucking good. You fight for the Charlies of the world. You take troubled teens and give them jobs. You took an ex-con and gave him a job when no one else would. What changed? Nothing ’s changed. I’m still the same ex-con. No one can change what I am... what I’ll always be.”

“Are you done?”  Cas was still staring into the sink.

“Yeah... I’ll... uh... find another job and move out of the apartment as soon as I can.” Dean felt a wave of sadness wash over him. His heart was hammering and his knees threatened to give out. He wanted... 

“I don’t want you to quit, Dean. If you can’t love me, then that’s fine, but you are a good baker... a good employee. I don’t want to lose everything.”

Dean felt the words like physical blows. “Cas, no, I do...”  He stopped himself before his confession.  God, when was the last time he’d said that to anyone? Maybe Sammy, or his mother when he was small. “You just deserve...”

Cas spun around, eyes blazing. “Shouldn’t I be the one to make decisions about what I deserve? What I want? What I fucking need?” Dean’s eyes widened. Being on the receiving end of  Cas ’ rage was not a place he wanted to be.  “Why does everyone think they know what is best for me? Didn’t we have this same discussion yesterday? I thought  _ we  _ decided to give this a go. Maybe I am fucking stupid.”

“No,  Cas , you’re the smartest...”

“Go, Dean. Just go.”

Dean stood up and left the kitchen.  _ One foot in front of the other. _ Had it only been three months since he’d walked out of prison? He’d been heading for freedom then.  Now, he felt like he lost his second chance at life.  Cas deserved better than him though. He would see it eventually. Better to get it over with now. Dean would still work at the bakery while looking for another job. He could fix up the apartment as a thank you to  Cas . That way when he moved out,  Cas could rent it to someone else. Someone worthy of being  Cas ’ friend. That man was not Dean.

He spent the rest of the afternoon and night feeling sorry for himself and breaking his vow not to become another John Winchester, he bought a bottle and drank half of it. He’d become a lightweight since prison. He laughed bitterly as he capped the bottle. There was  plenty of time to build up a tolerance. 

Monday morning everything that could go wrong went wrong. Meg was there, watching the shit show unfold. Dean and Cas had lost their work balance. They barely glanced at each other and Cas only spoke to him when absolutely necessary. Once the morning slowed down, Kevin peeked his head in the swinging door and asked if they could get their heads out of their asses after the last batch  of Angel Kisses cupcakes, aptly named for the chocolate kiss sitting on a cloud of fluff, tasted like sawdust. That only made Dean feel worse. 

Dean ran up to his apartment during his fifteen-minute break just so he wouldn’t taint the work environment any more than he had  and honestly, to avoid Cas’ sad fucking eyes.  Just as he sat down on the couch with a Rapture cookie and a  glass of milk , there was a light knock on the door. 

“Come in,” he called out, not bothering to stand. He wasn’t prepared for _The_ _Wicked_ _Bitch_ _of the East_ to walk in. She barely stepped in the door before she looked around like the place was covered in cock roaches.

“Well, at least this is better than the last time I was up here.” She trailed a red-tipped fingernail over the back of the second hand table he’d refinished. “You should be on that show Flea Market Finds."

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” Dean muttered, not looking at her. “If you came up here to insult me, that’s cool, but if it’s all the same to you, I’m on my break."

“I’m not sure what kind of spell you’ve cast over Cas,” she stopped and giggled. “Cast over Cas, God I’m good.” Dean rolled his eyes and finished his milk. Why was his life such a shit show? Had he been an axe murderer in a previous life? “Anyway, you’ve charmed the pants off him and I’m here to tell you...”

“To back off. Yeah, I got that memo the other night, Sweetheart. No need to worry your pretty little head about it . I told Cas I...” No, he wasn’t going to tell this woman that he wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t going to let her think she was right about him, even if she was. “We aren’t...” Shit, why was there a stabbing pain in his chest. He tossed the remainder of his cookie onto the paper towel, crumbs flying everywhere, and stood up to his full height. He knew he looked intimidating. Hell, it worked on some of those crazy fuckers on the inside. “I know what I am, Meg. I know I spent fifteen years in prison. I know that I had my adult life ripped away from me by a man that was supposed to love me, not let me rot in prison for his sins. Yeah, I know that Cas is too good for me. That I’m nowhere near what he deserves. But you know what? I love him. I would do anything to make him happy. That’s why I’m leaving. He may be upset now but in the long run, he’ll see it was best. So, fuck you, Meg. You can ride your broomstick straight to fucking Hell.” 

Through the frosted window on the door, Dean saw a shadow move, but paid it no mind. All he wanted was a minute to lick his wounds. Was that too fucking much to ask?

Instead of the haughty expression he was used to seeing on her face, there was a small smile. “Crazy as it sounds, I believe you, Dean-o.” She snapped her fingers and stared at the ceiling. “Shit... oh yeah, there was this poster when I was a kid. _ If you love something, let it go, if it comes back, it’s yours, if not, it was never yours anyway. _ .. or some sappy crap like that. You really would leave to keep from hurting him?” She stared at him as if he was some alien being. “Huh. Now, isn’t that interesting?”

She acted like she was going to say more, but the door opened again. “I f you two are done peeing on your territory , it’s time to go back to work. Meg, you need to leave and I will  talk to you later . There is a lot we need to discuss. Dean, a word with you before we go back downstairs.” Cas raised his eyebrow and gave a look that left no room for arguments.

Once Meg was gone,  Cas turned to Dean and pointed at the couch. Dean sat quickly.

“First, I should apologize for eavesdropping, but I’m not going to. W hatever Meg has said to you, let me apologize on her behalf. She’s a loyal friend, but a pain in the ass. She had no right to meddle and she uses words like a blade. They are meant to wound.  She was out of line , but then, she usually is . ” 

He ran his hand through his hair and a soft smile touched his lips. “Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?” Dean shrugged, not knowing what else to do.

“ I see a man who was betrayed by someone that should have protected him. A man that was dealt a shit hand and still managed to come out to be a kind soul. A man that inspires me to be a better version of myself. I am completely me when I’m with you. I want to be that person for you. I want to be there for you when you’re happy, or sad, or angry, overwhelmed, silly, or just peaceful. I want to be with you. That is why I got so angry yesterday. You and Meg, you both think you know what is best for me. But I am the only one that truly knows that. You make me the best me and that’s how I know you are what’s best for me.”

Cas looked at him , his eyes filled with emotion,  and asked, “Can I be what’s best for you?”

Dean gave a tentative nod and stood. Gone was the intimidating ex-con. In his place was a scared man, terrified he was still capable of fucking this up. The couch separated them and Cas was waiting for an answer. “You are,” he whispered, figuring the less he talked the better.

“Okay, then.” Cas nodded briskly. “Those cupcakes aren’t going to bake themselves and I’m afraid Kevin is mad at both of us. We should...”

“Get back to work,” Dean finished for him. There it was again, that smile... the one Dean thought of has his own. 

He opened the door and as Dean passed by, he put his hand on the small of Dean’s back and whispered. “Tonight, you are coming to m y place for dinner.”

“Alright,” Dean responded, the warmth from Cas’ hand making his brain misfire. It was just a touch, but it carried a lot of meaning.

“And Dean, pack your toothbrush and a change of clothes.” 

When they entered the kitchen, Kevin, Jack, and Meg all looked up guiltily from where they were huddled together. “I don’t pay you to stand around gossiping,” Cas said gruffly, but Dean saw him fighting a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those that are on my palominopup FB page, you know that I've been doubting myself with this story. A friend read it today and she gently suggested that I've broken my first rule of writing. I'm telling this story and now showing it. It isn't my best and it will probably not be my worst, but I will do a re-write when I'm in the proper headspace for this story. I will finish it, hopefully, in the next week or so, and if you like it, I'm truly thankful. If not, come back and revisit it at another time and see if I've had the time to make my mark on it again.


	8. Pearly Gates

Excitement laced with apprehension drove Dean throughout the rest of the afternoon. He caught Cas staring at him several times, only because he was sneaking longing looks his way too. It wasn’t until Cas took a break to take a deposit to the bank that Meg cornered him. He tensed, prepared for more hurtful words, but she shocked him. “He’s my unicorn, Winchester. He’s always been there for me and I for him. Don’t take him far, huh?”

“I’m not taking him anywhere, Meg,” Dean said, not understanding.

She shook her head and became focused on something over Dean’s left shoulder. “Those assholes in his past... they kept him away from me. I lost him for a time.” It hit him then,  Meg wasn’t as tough as she made herself out to be . 

“We aren’t going to paint each other’s toenails, and I don’t expect us to become drinking buddies, but I learned to share things back in kindergarten. Cas has enough heart for the both of us. You love him and I... do too. Truce?”

Her eyes finally met his. “Truce.” Without a backward glance, she went back to the front of the bakery, leaving him to finish a cake for some dude’s funeral. He stared at the sketch. There was no accounting for taste, he supposed. The widow wanted it to represent heaven, right down to the Pearly Gates. He used modeling chocolate to mold them and then brushed them with a pearlized white dust. 

He looked up when the back door opened and Cas walked in. “Anything exciting happen while I was gone?”

“Nope, unless you want to count this.” Dean gestured to the cake. 

“Promise me that if I die first, you will not duplicate this monstrosity.”  _ Til _ _  death do us part _ . Dean wasn’t sure why the traditional wedding vows came to mind, and for a second or two, he stood in stunned silence. “Dean? Is something wrong?”

“No, I’m good.” He pasted on a smile. “I promise I will never, ever do anything this cheesy if you go  before  I do.”

Cas leaned forward and kissed him softly. He pulled back a few inches and smiled. “Thank you.”

Dean finished up the cake and since it was the last deliver of the day, he helped Kevin load it in the van, while Cas began cleaning up. Once Kevin was gone, it didn’t take long to have the kitchen spotless and ready for the morning. “Shall we?” Cas asked, standing by the back door.

“Give me a few minutes,” Dean called out and raced up the stairs. He tossed a few things into his small duffle and took a few deep breaths. Cas wanted him to spend the night and Dean wondered about the sexual implications. He’d packed up the horror of  _ that _  part of his life long before he was released. He took back control and when shit went down, it was on his terms. He wasn’t lying when he told Cas he used his body to get what he wanted. This was different though. He wanted a relationship with Cas and everything that went with it.

Cas was leaning on his bike when Dean pounded down the steps. “Are you going to let me ride in that beautiful car, or do you want to take mine?” He patted the chrome handlebars.

“I think we’ll take my baby,” Dean answered. He did want to ride behind Cas, his arms around his waist, chest pressed to the man’s strong back, but that was for another time.

The meal was as different from that tense lunch as night and day. Cas had an oldies station playing on the radio. He’d put Dean to work chopping vegetables for a stir-fry, while he cut up the chicken and started the rice. They talked about upcoming cake orders, new recipes they wanted to try, and their food likes and dislikes. When dinner was done, they sat on Cas’ back porch and listened to the sounds of crickets and far off traffic. Dean was relaxed, even though he’d only had two beers. 

He caught Cas staring, instead of the warm looks he’d received most of the day, his expression was quizzical. “What?”

“I want you to know when I asked you to pack a bag, I wasn’t expecting... I don’t want you to feel pressured. I’m willing to wait as long as you...”

“Cas, I’m fine. ” He was, wasn’t he? He looked out into the beautifully landscaped backyard and got Cas talking about his garden. While the slow cadence of his rumbling voice washed over him, he thought about it. He’d had urges since he’d gotten out. He’d wanted to sink his dick into any willing hole. Then there were those times that he flew solo. It wasn’t a nightly thing, but yeah, he had needs. He felt  Cas’  hand on his arm and met his eyes. 

“You were a million miles away. Where did you go?”

“Nowhere...” No. If this thing was going to work, and he wanted it to with every fiber of his being, he had to be honest. He covered  Cas’  hand with his. “I was about an hour west of here.” He watched as Cas put two and two together. “But I’m back now.”

“I’m glad.” 

Dean stood, drawing Cas up with him. “I’m getting a little tired. How about you?”

The upstairs was just as impressive. There were several rooms, most empty, but one was set up as a nice guest room. Cas’ was at the front of the house and Dean was taken aback by the sheer size of it. He’d lived in six by eight cell for fifteen years and then lived at Sam’s house. It was a shock for him to be able to move around freely, but he felt the need to hole up in his bedroom when things got too overwhelming. That’s why he loved his apartment. It was small. He thought his whole place would fit into Cas’ master suite.

His eyes avoided the bed. There was a sitting area near the front bay window. Billowy white curtains covered the bay window and a large ornate fireplace took up almost an entire wall. “You could have a dance party in here,” Dean observed. He loved how airy the room  was.  Cas hadn’t felt the need to clutter it with a ton of furniture. There was a comfortable looking chair, a huge dresser and armoire made of washed pine, and the bed with matching nightstands. That was it.

“Charlie suggested I move the bed to the center of the room to give it a ‘romantic vibe’.” Dean grinned at the air quotes.

“Nah, I like it the way it is.” The bed, now that he was facing the elephant in the room, was a four-poster in the same washed pine. It had a thick white comforter on it, and yeah, it was really pretty, but still plain enough to be considered masculine. He saw a stack of books on one nightstand and moved to the other side where he set his duffle. 

“The bathroom is through there,” Cas said, pointing to an open doorway. “You can go first.” 

The clawfoot bathtub was too big to be the original and he let himself imagine Cas leaning against the back with Dean settled between his legs. There would be bubbles. He had to smile at that. He stripped down to his boxers and hesitated. At home, he slept in sleep pants and nothing else. Should he leave on his underwear? Should he put on a t-shirt? He’d brought one. He was overthinking. 

In the end, the boxers came off, but the t-shirt went on. He quickly brushed his teeth and tucked his dirty clothes back into his bag. 

When he opened the bathroom door, the bedroom was bathed in candlelight and soft music was playing. Cas was still dressed, though his shirt was untucked and he was barefoot. Dean wasn’t sure why he noticed that detail. “Cas...” 

“Dean, this isn’t about sex,” he said, waving his hand around the room. “This is about intimacy. I want to get to know you. I want to know what you like and dislike.” He’d gradually moved closer to Dean as he talked and Dean bit his lower lip and then realized he was still holding his duffle. He dropped it onto the floor.

“You don’t have to handle me with kid gloves, Cas. I’m good with having sex. With you,” he added. 

“I’m sure you are, but this is for me too.” He took Dean’s hands and placed them on his waist. Then he put his own around Dean’s biceps. He stepped even closer and Dean stared into the dark depths of Cas’ eyes. They fit together, the inch or so height difference was more noticeable now. Cas’ hands moved to Dean’s shoulders and down to splay on his back. He began to sway slowly. A song began to play.

_ “ _ _ I found a love for me _

_ Darling, just dive right in and follow my lead _

_Well, I found a boy, beautiful and sweet_  

_ Oh, I never knew you were the someone waiting for me”  _

Cas sang softly and then hummed along as the words continued. Dean stopped listening to the song and relaxed against Cas, letting him lead them in slow circles around the room. The nervousness he’d felt, yet denied, drained away. This was the man he’d fallen for. Head over heels. He smiled against Cas’ shoulder. He was living a chick flick and he really didn’t give a damn.   
   
The song ended and another began, and still, they swayed. Dean let his hands move under Cas’ shirt and over his ribs. The man was built. Despite his profession, there wasn’t a spare ounce on him. “May I touch you?” Dean’s breath caught and he pulled back to look at Cas. No one had ever asked that of him. He felt vulnerable all of a sudden. As if sensing Dean’s thoughts, Cas pulled him tighter. “You are holding my heart in the palm of your hands, Dean. I am just as scared as you are.”

Dean released a soft huff of laughter and let his head drop to Cas’ shoulder again. “Not scared.” And he wasn’t, not with Cas. 

“Well, I’m terrified,” Cas whispered in Dean’s ear.

“Of what?” Dean asked, leaving a light kiss on Cas’ neck. It felt so right, he left another... and another.

“Not being good enough for you. Not living up to the image of the person you want to be with. Failing you.” Those were all Dean’s fears voiced out loud.

“Cas, babe, you could never... I’m the one who...” Cas drew back and placed his finger over Dean’s lips. 

“I’ve waited a lifetime to meet you, Dean Winchester. You, and all your flaws, and all your fears, every facet of the man you are. I love you.”

Dean blinked back the damned wetness in his eyes. “I’ve got a lot of flaws...”

“As do I.”

“Meg hates me.”

“She’ll come around.”

“The cake I made today was hideous.” 

Cas laughed, a low rumble that made Dean smile. “It was, but the customer is always right.”

“Cas?”

“Hmmm,” Cas murmured, nuzzling Dean’s earlobe with his lips.

“We deserve this.”

“Yes, we do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Credit: Ed Sheeran's Perfect
> 
> I feel as though I've cheated my readers, because this is not my best work. Someday, I hope to come back and flesh the story out and give you a better ending, but for now, this is all I have in me. Stress kills creativity. 
> 
> For those of you that called me and sent me private messages, thank you. It means a lot to have friends who worry about me. I'm doing better. Life goes on. I've got another story in the works, plus the FicFacers.com auction coming up for Random Acts, plus DCBB. UGH....

**Author's Note:**

> In the next chapter, there will be strong homophobic language. It was necessary for the story and I needed it to be real and harsh. As a LGBT mom, I've heard the stories and the hurtful words. Assholes are everywhere, it is our job to stand up to them.


End file.
